


The 00Q Collection

by Jen (ConsultingWriters)



Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, AU in places, Angst, Fluff, Humour, I can't physically tag everything, It's a Pandora's Box, M/M, Oh jesus christ I've written a lot, Or warn, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fill, Slash, So see each fill for details
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 892
Words: 386,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriters/pseuds/Jen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to popular demand: My tumblr fills, now moved onto AO3!</p><p>This collection pertains to all fills that focus on James Bond/Q. Slash, pre-slash, et cetera. All safe for work, but please heed warnings as they pertain to each fill. More fills can be found through the rest of my 'Prompt Fill' series. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everything around them is frozen.

The ground is cold and incredibly hard, solid. Ice is settled on every visible surface, breath clouding in sharp puffs, and Bond is similarly a frozen monument as he glances guardedly around the scenery.

“It’s beautiful,” Q murmurs; Bond’s gaze is sharp and intrusive, daring him. Q feels like he is being tested on something, while having absolutely no idea of what.

“I don’t know why we’re here,” Bond admits sharply. Q would like to pretend that is a surprise, but it really isn’t; Bond is obviously uncomfortable, and even when they were planning this, Q got the distinct impression Bond was trying to prove something to somebody, to Q, to himself, it was difficult to tell.

Q shrugs, and holds Bond’s hand incrementally tighter. “I grew up here.”

“I gathered,” Q says gently, smiling. “Like I say, very beautiful. A lovely place to grow up.”

Bond sinks slightly. It isn’t obvious, not by any standard, but it is a slight depress in his posture, in his gaze. Q notices, he always notices.

“You miss them,” he says, and it isn’t a question. Bond looks around at him. Nobody has ever dared insinuate that his past in any way affects him now; he snaps off that part of him as something long dead, but Q, Q seems to see that it is not that simple.

Bond nods wordlessly. Q doesn’t bother with platitudes, there seems little point. “They’d like you,” Bond says after a long while.

“I doubt that, they had an attached chapel. I think homosexuality would have been slightly low on their list of priorities,” Q points out, smirking. Bond rolls his eyes. Q cups his face between his hands, kisses him, strokes his temples in a soothing gesture that he somehow guesses Bond remembers from childhood.

Q notices so much. He knows so much. And Bond loves him so much it hurts from time to time, when he stands, looking at the wreckage of the first place he ever called home, holding the hand of the first person since his parents died that makes him feel at home.

Wherever they are, Q makes him feel like he is home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellow. propmpt : Q and Bond are a couple. I need fluffy fic, where they are going on a date. Thank you <3 - shipimpala

Q straightened his tie, and ran fingers through his hair. It was a complete lost cause. He had known that since before leaving his flat. He had spotted his reflection in one of the restaurant mirrors, and just knew it was irredeemable.

He breathed in, and whistled an exhale. He nodded, straightened, turned, and exited the bathroom back to the table, where Bond was sat in an Armani suit, looking utterly composed, smiling that arrogant smirk Q knew so well.

“I ordered dessert,” Bond told him lightly. Q raised an eyebrow.

“A little presumptuous.”

“You like chocolate, right?” Bond asked, a darker smirk playing in the corners of his mouth. Q’s face fell slightly. He didn’t dislike chocolate, per se, but it wasn’t ideal. He was about to give a calculated shrug, when the dark smirk cracked into a laugh. “Sorbet?”

Q laughed. “Superb. Thank you.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Bond said, somehow managing to make the phrase sound unspeakably dirty. Q blinked.

Thankfully, the desserts materialised. Bond had ended with a tiramisu-type effort, and Q was faced with a veritable mountain of various sorbets. “Impressive,” he managed, picking up the unreasonably small spoon he had been supplied with.

“I felt so,” Bond told him, and with an equally delicate fork, began the deconstruction of the tiramisu. “Like to try?”

Q’s nod was almost shy. Bond couldn’t help but wonder at how excellent a manipulator Q was; he knew precisely what to say, when to say it. He was perfectly constructed, and Bond wanted more than anything to coax him open, and find what was inside.

He watched Q do obscene things with sorbet, and wondered quite how he’d ended up here. It didn’t matter. Q was so brilliantly beautiful, so different, entirely unique.

Q licked raspberry sorbet out of the hollow of a spoon, tongue hollowing out. He knew Bond was watching him and, more important, knew that Bond was aware that he was trying to manipulate him.

Q winked. Bond threw his head back and simply laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really should have guessed that you guys would have a tumblr~ Now I can stalk from multiple angles. Bonus! Anywho, my prompt is: Bond comes out of a coma with amnesia in a hospital bed of some foreign country after his latest mission takes a turn for the worse, starts to panic, and it's up to a disembodied voice in his ear to calm him down. Sorry if the whole amnesiac thing has been done to death already D: And I hope you both have a fantastic trip!! <3 - virtualoutcast

Ceiling. Faded white, cracked, textured. Strip lighting, artificial, intense. Air conditioned, heavy, dense atmosphere. Bustling and beeping, motion, noise, volume too high and too low, difficult to focus. Horizontal, head supported, pain.

“Good afternoon sir,” a voice says in a language that isn’t his own, but he understands. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Bond says, still not his own language, he responds on instinct. Bond. His name. James Bond. He can just about remember that. His name. Bond, James Bond. Shaken not stirred. No, wait. That thought slides from him too-quickly. Where is he? Tunisia, brain supplies, with no evidence. Emma would want to know where he is. Where is he? And who is Emma?

“Okay, sir. Can you tell me your name?”

“Bond. James Bond,” Bond replies, and isn’t quite sure why it feels like a cliché. You’ve said that so many times it’s your own in-joke. Somebody’s voice. A voice in his head. He reaches up to bat at his left ear. The voice feels louder there.

“What year is it?”

“1993,” Bond replies automatically, despite the answer feeling both wrong, and difficult. It can’t be 1993, nothing looks right, and he knows enough about amnesia, how does he know, to know that he is in hospital and it isn’t what he thinks, nothing is as it seems.

James Bond, sixteen years old, in the body of somebody in his late thirties, in a country and time and place and language that do not belong to him but he seems to know anyway. Nothing is making any sense. He can hear voices and words and names, and the smiles seem painted and the voices are wrong, and he can’t breathe, and he wants to find words that are his own.

“James, you need to get out of there,” the voice in his head tells him in a language that smells of home, and he listens because it’s a voice that sounds familiar, and his body relaxes in trust.

He is slightly frightened at the thought of going mad, but the thought is disconnected. If he’s mad, there is no point fighting it. In any case, mad in a foreign country is dangerous, they mostly don’t understand madness, and he wishes he knew how he knows that.

He feigns falling asleep to stop the external voices, and he isn’t frightened. His body is taught and finely lined, and he both is and isn’t sixteen, and twenty-six, and thirty-six, and he wants and he needs to get out, and the voice in his ear is a face, a young face with an arrogant smile and eyes that are infinite.

The face is familiar. He can imagine kissing the dusk-pink lips, worshipping the lithe body, coaxing moans from that voice, the voice in his head, in his ear. “Move,” the voice tells him sharply, and he is in motion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Do you still take prompts? Here is one if you like to write it: Q gets lost on his way home and gets kidnapped. Bond saves him uwu - himezawa

Q was lost.

I mean how in the hell was it even possible to get lost in London, of all places. Yet here he was, without the foggiest idea of what had happened; the Central line had major engineering works, which meant he had taken the most ridiculous route in the world, and suddenly been chucked out at Warren Street – incidentally one of the furthest points from Wimbledon he could possibly envisage – and now had literally no idea where he was.

Which was why, naturally, he had been kidnapped. That was just unfair. The black car had pulled up alongside, the muzzle of a gun was pointed at his side, he handed over his wallet without really worrying, his phone under duress, his briefcase under threat, and his gun when they dragged him off the road and held their one against his temple.

Bugger.

He was subjected to the usual array of really pointless threats, and the promise of physical violence, a couple of punches which hurt like a son of a bitch, and then they left him alone in some vague hope that they could play mind games. Which was honestly laughable.

By the time Bond arrived, he had a bloodied nose, a small but notable collection of cracked or strained ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a black eye. “Bond?” he rasped. Oh yes. Dehydration. It said a fair amount that the dehydration – and accompanying malnutrition – had mostly failed to occur to him.

“You can’t even get home without getting kidnapped for three days,” Bond said drily, using one of Q’s own inventions – a lock picking device – to get through his handcuffs.

Q’s hands were released in tandem with the wail he let out. “Q? Q, are you alright?!”

“I had a bloody deadline. The bastards kidnap me for three days? This is getting fucking ridiculous. Also, I’ve spent more on glasses since working for MI6 than I have in my entire life, and I’ve been in glasses since I was six,” Q spat. He tried to stand up. Fell down again.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bond murmured, with a very slight suggestion of fondness, and Q decided it was about time to pass out


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has a nightmare and does something in his sleep (holds a gun/knife on Q) Q talks him down, Bond goes all stoic and tries to break things off, Q intervenes.

Q woke up to his lover, James Bond, attempting to throttle him.

“James,” Q rasped, pawing at Bond’s hands. Bond was, of course, completely asleep. This was not the first time Bond had suffered a dream that had knocked back on Q; Q had happily hidden the sprained fingers, the bruises, and quietly mentioned that Bond could perhaps do with getting sleep therapy, or medication.

This was, however, the first time Q’s life had been genuinely threatened. “James. James, you need to wake up.”

Bond just growled slightly in his sleep.

“James, calm down,” Q managed, feeling his vision blur and fog over. “It’s Q, your Q, Quartermaster of MI6 who you are about to… fuck, James… James…”

Q was frightened, quite admittedly. Everything was going dark, very dark, fogging over horribly and he couldn’t breathe, and it was remarkably painful.

The sudden whoosh of air back into his lungs was sweet and glorious, like water when dehydrated. It was slightly painful, but not the end of the world. Q twisted over, panting, coughing despite himself; he would have liked to have talked to Bond in the morning, but Bond seemed to be awake.

“What the hell?”

“Your sleep again,” Q whispered, throat raw. “Fuck, that was not good.”

“I strangled you?” Bond said, voice breaking in tandem with Q, who was hacking coughs on the bed sheets. “Oh god. Q, I’m so sorry, I… jesus.”

“Calm down, I’m fine,” Q lied, probing at the swelling under his jaw. He would have some nasty bruising, and the swelling around his trachea would take a few days. That promised to be irritating to explain.

“I can’t risk you like this,” Bond told him, voice suddenly snappingly brusque. Q sighed, twisted to look at James with a weary expression.

“This again?” he asked, looking bored. “My decision, isn’t it? Stop being a martyr, and get some help sleeping.”

“You can’t be with somebody who…”

“Who what? Loves me? Cares for me? James, we’ve been through this too many times. Leave it alone. Yes, you’re a bit of a liability when you panic, but I really think you’re going over the top.”

“I nearly throttled you!”

“And I nearly got you killed on your last mission by failing to read the full security report,” Q shrugged, taking a slug of water from the glass on the bedside table. “We live and learn, Bond. Now go back to sleep, and try to avoid dreams about killing people.”

“I’m going out.”

“I know,” Q said quietly. “You’ll be back, though. I’m a grownup. I know what I’m doing, being with you. I knew what I was signing up for. We both did.”

Bond nodded sharply, and shadowed out of the bedroom. Q sat up in bed, listening to Bond dress out of sight, for him to grab a few things and leave. He would come back. He always came back.

Didn’t he?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping in fluffy piece

Q burrowed. It was one of the most endearing things Bond had ever known. The Quartermaster of MI6, the most sarcastic, sharp, lethal people in the entirety of Britain – settle him down, wrap arms around him, and let him sleep. He burrowed into Bond’s chest, gruffling slightly in his sleep, nose nudging his upper arm.

It was eleven in the morning. Ridiculously late by anybody’s standards. Bond had literally thrown the alarm at the wall, and Q – who was usually up and out of bed like a shot – had half-woken, and been coaxed back to sleep.

They exchanged lazy kisses through a sleep-sodden haze, Q’s head on Bond’s shoulder, hair ruffled everywhere, bare skin beautifully inviting. Bond lavished attention on his neck, pulse points, making Q whine slightly in sleep and arch for more.

“What time is it?” Q asked, after a lifetime of stillness and languid motion. Bond didn’t answer, holding Q fractionally tighter. “James?”

“Half eleven?” Bond suggested. Q stiffened.

“What?”

“Half eleven,” Bond repeated obligingly. Q let out a full-throated groan.

“Bastard. I’m going to get lynched. They’re going to kill me. James Bond, you are going to be the reason for my death.”

“We knew that already, and you need the sleep.”

Q shrugged lopsided, and snuffled again as he started tilting back into sleep. “True on both counts,” he mumbled, and let Bond rock him back into sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Bond cooking (he can cook really well), Q tries to reciprocate…poorly - placeofold

Bond had the irritatingly perfect ability to cook everything amazingly. After years spent in the field, being taught to cook and fend for himself, he could literally create anything. Breakfast in bed was one of life’s true joys as far as Q was concerned, when Bond appeared with magic omelettes and perfectly cooked bacon and pancakes.

Q was aware that cooking was not a speciality, but damn it, he wanted to try.

It was just pasta bolognaise. Not especially difficult, but Q didn’t want to overreach when he was starting from a place with limited toast-cooking abilities. Chopping onions was fine. The oil started smoking, which was less good, and then the onions started spitting, and then the meat started burning, and everything went very rapidly downhill from there.

Bond entered to find Q, in a haze of smoke and tears and sweat and hysteria, with a bubbling pot of something which was very close to resembling bolognaise. “You’re cooking?” he asked, with tangible amusement.

“I’m trying to,” Q retorted, stirring the bolognaise frantically. “It looks like shit.”

An accurate assessment. Bond had a look, asked to have a stir, tasted it; not Q’s finest hour. Redeemable, however. “Do you want to put the pasta on? This is nearly done.”

Q’s eyebrows creased. “But it tastes…”

“The flavours just need to mature. By the time the pasta’s cooked, it’ll be fine,” Bond assured him, with his trademark grin and flash of honesty he reserved for Q. Just for Q. Q nodded, turning away to get a pan; Bond attacked the bolognaise with basil and a touch of cinnamon, utilising his lightning-fast reaction speeds. “See?” he said, offering the spoon; a somewhat confused, although delighted Q, conceded that it was already better.

“Where’s the pasta?

“There’s actual spaghetti in the top drawer on the left,” Bond suggested; Q’s back was turned, he added salt. Q had followed the recipe; levels of onion and garlic were fine, but it did need a little bit of saving from the bitterness of burnt meat, and the sourness of under-ripe tomatoes.

Bond continued to amend, tweak, while Q whirled around the kitchen, set the table, got wine out. Q may not have been able to cook, but he knew wine like a proper connoisseur when he wanted to. Or at least, knew how to use Google in working out what went best with pasta.

Bond sat at the table, damage done. Q tasted the sauce, and Bond had to stifle a snort at the expression of bemusement and pride Q suddenly wore. He served up, settling dishes in front of them both.

It was pretty spectacular. Bond was rather pleased with himself.

“I’m never doing that again,” Q mumbled eventually, through a mouthful of pasta. “More stressful than recon.”

“You’re a loss to the cooking world,” Bond told him, with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, piss off.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has a sister complex. And his sister is Vesper. His real name is Matin Lynd. Martin means “early dawn” or “daybreak”, the antonym of Vesper (which means “sunset”). Q holds a vindictive hatred towards Bond. Since his sister left him, she died because of Bond, she chose Bond in the end, not her brother who loved her dearly. Q vowed to destroy Bond. He deliberately let Silva hacked into the security system. He even sleeps with Bond to find Bond’s weakness. Q hasn’t expected that weakness is Q himself. Like sister, like brother, they fall in love with the same man. Angst but happy ending please! - chibura

“Happy birthday,” Luke Lynd breathed at the ceiling. They had painted it a few weeks ago, now a perfect white finish. The birthday was for his sister, his beautiful sister, over two years dead now.

“Q?” a voice mumbled. “Who you talking to?”

“Nobody,” Q murmured back, stroking a hand through Bond’s hair. “Go back to sleep.”

He continued to look at the ceiling, eyes falling closed again. He missed her so badly. All of this, everything about it, was for her. The man he was sleeping with, in every sense – for her. For revenge. To work out how to systematically destroy the man responsible for his sister’s death.

Do you blame me? He thinks, wondering if Vesper can hear him, if she understands. He would not let Bond take her away, not without revenge. Skyfall would have been the perfect moment; Bond, responsible for the death of his senior agent, watching his old home burn to the ground, unable to stop the inevitable, and then killed at the end of it. That had been Luke’s hope.

He had stayed alive. He had then decided to exploit Bond’s interest in him, in the hope that he could find Bond’s weakness, and then exact a very thorough way of destroying him.

Bond smiled as he woke up, and Q smiled back despite himself. Q was beginning to hate how easy the reactions were these days; to smile, to laugh, to love. This was wrong. He couldn’t love Bond. He could not allow himself to.

And yet Vesper had. She had loved him quite entirely. He hadn’t understood why, until now. Yet Bond was so easy to love, especially when he loved back. His passion and brilliance was so glorious to be around, and it was instinctive to reciprocate, and oh, but he loved Bond.

He didn’t want to love him, but he did. He didn’t want to lose him. He loved Vesper still, of course; his sister, the extension of himself. The impending darkness and he, the dawning light.

How apt, he wondered with a wry laugh, kissing Bond gently. This was going to end so badly. Vesper had died loving him. Maybe Q would too. But he couldn’t remain Luke Lynd forever. He could not be her vengeance. He had been too much for her as it was. He had hurt people. Good people, bad people.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked him, and Q looked at him, and smiled. It was easy, familiar, and hatred was unbelievably tiring after a point.

“Yes,” Q replied simply, and kissed him. Happy birthday, he thought again, and let himself fall in love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've become quite addicted to Android!Q. - concussedparanoia

They were never intimate. It was a surreal feeling for Bond – who had made his life a mission of tactile experience – to not be constantly engaged in physical intimacy. Yet they managed a strange form of pseudo-relationship, in the most honest and uncomplicated sense; they enjoyed one another’s company, as far as each was able, and accordingly spent time with one another.

It was arguable that Q could not ‘enjoy’ spending time with Bond. He technically, honestly, did not have the capacity. Anything he said, or did, was false, learned, mimicked, programmed.

Bond did not want to love him. Q did not love him. Q had told him as much, with a softly mocking smile and fingers lingering on the broad planes of his cheeks. Q did not love him, and never would.

Q was a melee of constituent parts, clockwork, mechanical. Brilliant and incandescent, and entirely not human.

Bond was the skeleton of a man, raw, visceral, real. Honest and angry, the remnants after everything he had once been, had once had, had been systematically removed or destroyed. Almost human. But nonetheless, alone.

Q was warm and soft, Bond was cold and hard. They were the antithesis of one another, and together, simply because lonely people cling to one another if given the chance. Q was not lonely, but he was alone, and that slight distinction is what allowed Q – who knew full well all his flaws – to engage with Bond.

Q does not love him. Bond is not sure if he loves Q either. Neither know if it is even possible. But they are there, and they are together, and neither questions the arrangement.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q helps James deal when a mission goes very wrong - placeofold

Bond was extremely drunk by the time Q got to him; Q had needed to handle the cleanup, removing evidence of MI6 involvement, organise the funeral. He was settled on Q’s sofa, drinking himself blind, almost unaware of Q’s entry.

“I killed them,” he mumbled.

“Not strictly true. A bomb did,” Q pointed out, standing near the doorway. Bond was impossible to read in these scenarios; he would either need immediate care and attention, or would need Q to stay the hell away for his own safety. Q did not want to enter the firing line unless he knew he would not end up as collateral.

“Not the fucking point, Q.”

Ah. One of those moods. Bond never swore. He was archetypically British; polite, refined, suave, lethal. He didn’t bandy about swearwords like Q did, like anyone younger might.

“You did all you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Q agreed. Bond’s head snapped to him. “You don’t want me to lie, and I’m going to pander to you. It wasn’t enough. Sixteen people are dead, we still don’t have the total of wounded. People with lives and families. The mission was a complete fucking disaster area.”

“I fucking know that.”

“Then don’t sit here and drink yourself catatonic, as though that will change anything. Do something, if you want to, or just accept that this was not something you could have altered, or done better. They’re dead, Bond, and giving yourself alcohol poisoning won’t change it. You’re a good agent, a brilliant one actually, but you fuck up. We all do.”

“You don’t.”

“I think the Skyfall incident was pretty comprehensive. I was directly responsible for the death of my section chief,” Q said sharply; Bond could just sense the wealth of vulnerability beneath that sentence. Silence was held unpleasantly.

Both men deflated suddenly. Q settled by Bond on the sofa, and he leaned into the younger man, seeking warmth, seeking comfort. “It never gets easier,” he noted, staring at the opposite wall.

“No,” Q agreed.

They sat in silence.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooo! I've never done this before so bare with me while I fumble through this most inelegantly. 00Q: Post-Apocalyptic, anyway it came about I leave to you (war, disease, awesome zombies), Q and Bond find each other again after being separated both thinking the other had died. Cheers! - anon

Simple warfare had brought down the world, in the end. Despite the best efforts of all secret services, governments, even general revolutions – the wrong people held the wrong weapons, and everything turned very quickly to hell.

Q had been in the right place at the right time. Q-branch had a bunker; when the world above them started turning to hell, he and his branch, as many as possible, had crowded into a very old-school bunker.

The UK was one of the few countries that nukes hadn’t been used on. Most of North America, China, the Middle-East and Argentina had been completely decimated; the United Kingdom, parts of Europe, Australia, India had been left surprisingly unscathed. However, contamination was spreading; the radiation in the atmosphere would kill eventually, if not quite yet.

The bombing in the UK had been old-fashioned; actual explosives, bombs from planes, landmines. The bombings had started in the Underground system as simple terrorism; the damage to the infrastructure and support was extensive. When the Final Assault happened, Q-branch and other MI6 operatives hid in the bunker, until the roof collapsed.

Q, and a handful of others, made it out. They picked their way through rubble and fires, into the smoking haze of what had once been London. M, Moneypenny, Bond – the three people Q were closest to were dead. M had never made it to the bunker, Moneypenny was crushed when the roof collapsed, Bond had been in China.

Q tried not to think about Bond too much.

The one good thing about the UK was that enough people had survived, with little to no radiation infections, to start rebuilding. Q emerged out of the bunker, the daylight shrouded in smoke, coughing, surrounded by the handful of people who survived.

They began constructing underground systems, places to live. There was little to no contact from other countries; satellites had mostly shut down, computer systems were broken or obsolete. Major servers were mostly bombed or hadn’t been maintained. Everything, in short, had turned to absolute hell.

After a few months, everything had settled down. Q’s grief had abated into a quiet, throbbing thing. He would have loved to have given his grief any sway, but he couldn’t afford it; he was one of the more intelligent factions of the world as it stood, with less than a billion people left worldwide; he was needed to start reconstructing whatever was left, not wallow.

He therefore didn’t think about it at all. It was easier.

The London haven was busy these days; everybody had chipped in drafting in food supplies, trying to construct below-ground fields, hook up electricity, create a microcosm under the surface. Q was important in the technological advances; his skills had been put to good use, meaning he had better access to food, water, necessities.

They almost missed each other.

Q was darting down a corridor, papers and equipment in his hands. He didn’t really look at the poor emaciated sod being hauled down the corridor; there were many of them these days, people who had somehow survived their way into the London haven, and were now being helped by the core of medical staff who remained.

“Q?”

Q’s heart stopped beating. He was calling himself Oliver, these days, for convenience’s sake; an initial was too mysterious, and nobody wanted mystery. Nobody called him Q. Nobody remained who knew him as Q.

He twisted around, almost dropped everything, trying to focus.

The man’s mouth was slack, pale and dehydrated. He looked like hell, but the eyes still burned blue, and jesus, Q dreamed of those eyes.

He dropped everything, a little unsurprisingly, and walked towards the man who had to be Bond, reaching out, brushing his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes and face that had seen far too much, more than even a double-oh agent could see in a lifetime. Somebody who had made their way home through a world gone mad, who had fought to find a way home, to find Q.

There would be time for explanations later. For the time being, they simply held one another, and wondered how in the fuck they had ended up this lucky.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00QPrompt: Bond and Q cuddling in bed during a storm, with Q dead afraid of thunders. - anon

Bond couldn’t stop laughing. Q, a mature, responsible adult, was scared of thunderstorms.

“They are loud, and can hide a multitude of sins, and lightening can kill you if you get directly hit, or at least it can short out power circuits, and cause fires, and thunder itself is simply unpleasant and overly loud. It’s literally large quantities of electricity reacting in the air, with ridiculous decibel levels,” Q managed, in one almost incoherent blurt.

Bond was fully prepared to take the piss out of Q in a very major way, before realising that Q was genuinely very afraid. Not simply in an overdramatic manner, but in a way that made him rather vulnerable. Thankfully not as severe as his plane phobia, but nonetheless…

Bond wrapped his arms tighter around Q, and kissed his forehead. “No need to be scared,” he said, as another peal of thunder burst overhead, and Q’s fingers clenched in Bond’s shoulder. “I’ve got you, Q.”

Q nodded, sweetly childish, and let Bond pull the duvet more tightly over them both. Q stared at the window, at the flashes of lightening, waiting for the inevitable crack of thunder. Bond rubbed his temples in a soothing, repetitive gesture; the tension started to ease, and Q relaxed incrementally.

“Thank you,” Q mumbled.

“Don’t mention it,” Bond shrugged, and kissed the top of his head again. They lay together in warmth, while the storm raged overhead, far away from them both.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being under ground, Q branch gets hot. That amount of computers is bound to cause a reaction. Q is working and collapses dure to heat stroke (I had to include this one in, Australia is going through the hottest heatwave I have ever felt. We got to 46oC where I live the other day) - placeofold

Q-branch was swelteringly hot. The UK was undergoing something that resembled a genuine heat wave; with the computers as they were, and the lack of air in the basement cave that was Q-branch, it wasn’t that surprising that people were beginning to fall ill.

Lesser men had folded far earlier, as least escaping Q-branch for a short time. They could find air conditioning, iced water or other drinks, finally escape for a short period.

Q had stubbornly stayed in his office. Essentially, a box within a cave. It was a microwave, in practise, and Q’s brain was cooking.

Bond knocked on the door. Q panted slightly; he was beginning to find it slightly difficult to get oxygen into his system. He stood up, to greet Bond, to say hello; he noted briefly that everything felt a little odd, before things turned black, and he toppled to the floor.

“Well this is embarrassing,” he mumbled, as the world started to tune back in from the black. “Bond, why am I flying? B-Bond, why thefuckam I flying?!”

“You’re really out of it, aren’t you? I’m carrying to air con, and a water cooler,” Bond snorted. Q’s heartbeat was too-quick, his eyes blurring. “You will cool down properly, and then maybe I’ll let you go back to your office.”

“You’ll let me back to the office as soon as…”

“…You’re well, yes. You just passed out.”

“I’m fine.”

“Shut up,” Bond told him, lying him down on a series of chairs in a staff room. Q sighed, and obediently sipped at the water Bond gave him. He hadn’t realised just how dehydrated he was, before this moment. Tired, and thirsty, and too warm.

“I hate you,” he mumbled petulantly.

Bond smirked, and gently stroked through Q’s hair. “Yes. I know.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q prompt: Bond could turn himself into a cat when his energy is low. After a mission he almost dies and turn into one. This time it is a bit longer for him to return to his human form. Q found Bond as a cat on the street. Thinking Bond is a stray cat, Q brings him home. He loves the cat pretty much and always goes to bed with him. One day the cat disappear. Bond is back at Q branch, and he follow Q around like a cat. - chibura

Q liked walking through London at night. It was a beautiful city, and he had always felt at home.

His head hurt, but then, it never stopped these days. Bond had died four days ago, and it hadn’t left him alone, the constant thought that he had killed Bond, it was his fault Bond was dead. He should have been able to save him, and he hadn’t.

“Mew?”

Q rolled his eyes. “Hello,” he said lightly, bending down to the pale cat, who was watching him with bright eyes. Q smiled, scratching behind the cat’s ears, the cat purring without shame, rubbing against his hand and forearm. “Yes, yes you’re lovely. I need to go now.”

The cat yowled in protest. Q sighed, feeling for a collar. “A stray?” Q asked the cat, and wondered which brain aneurism had led him to believe that the cat would talk back. “It’s probably going to snow,” he murmured to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, _alright then,_ ” he conceded. “I’d better take you home, hmm?”

The cat purred.

-

The cat stayed for a week or so, and Q had to admit he was very fond of the thing. He provided a lovely distraction from MI6 – and writing Bond’s eulogy – by curling on his lap and eating anything in the flat that vaguely contained fish.

Q could honestly say he was devastated when the cat vanished.

-

“I’m not dead,” Bond told him. Q slapped him.

Bond had the grace to look rather ashamed of himself. “I nearly died, yes. I have a way of keeping himself alive if I need to; it takes some time to come back, I couldn’t make contact. I’m sorry, I really am.”

Q growled slightly despite himself. “A week and half, you couldn’t make contact in week and a half?!”

Bond kissed him. Q’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” Bond said again, cupping Q’s face in his hands.

“Fine,” Q growled. “Now go, Bond, I have work to do.”

Bond refused to leave. “Bond?” Q asked sarcastically, as Bond continued to watch him. “Anywhere to go?”

Bond shrugged, and smiled.

“Your money plant needed watering,” Bond said quietly. Q dropped his pen, eyes darting towards Bond. Bond shrugged again, and settled in Q’s other office chair. He refused to move, or be moved.

Q got him a glass of milk, and then refused to stop smirking for the rest of the day.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys probably left already, but I thought of another prompt so Imma send it anyway :) Bond is about to die and Q saves him, but his actions cause MI6 to become suspicious as to whether or not he has become compromised. - virtualoutcast

It was the first time Bond had ever been saved by a fire alarm. Q’s only option had been to trip it. The moment of distraction allowed him to disarm the man who was about to shoot him at point-blank range, and subsequently remove the three other hostiles in the vicinity. It all happened in a matter of seconds.

“Bond, move out,” Q told him urgently. “Door on your left. Down the corridor, turn right, you’ll have to jump out the window, but that’s hardly a first for you.”

Bond grunted in response, and started running.

-

Q sat back, his breathing fractured. He was in deep shit. Bond was alive – he could see Bond reaching a safe location on his monitors, despite CCTV being notoriously terrible in Istanbul – but in ensuring Bond’s life, he had lost some important intelligence on another mission.

He wasn’t surprised that M hauled him to his office.

“I made a judgement call,” Q said steadily. “I…”

“You lost intelligence, in favour saving the life of the agent you are in a relationship with,” M said flatly. “I know he’s important to you, but we cannot afford you to be emotionally compromised.”

Q wasn’t too surprised at that particular attack; he would have made the same accusation. “I’m not compromised. Bond is a good agent.”

“If it were between him and another agent, however, your loyalties are to him,” M said sharply. “Kindly remember that this is a secret service unit. We cannot afford for your allegiances to be to anything other than Queen and Country.

“Understood,” Q said, jaw clenched. Fuck that. He would not live long ‘For Queen and Country’, regardless; in the short time he had, he was damned if he was going to watch Bond die. Yet he would play the part, if he needed to. He would pretend to perfection, and still keep Bond safe.

M knew it. He sighed; this was going to end very badly. Impossible to tell who for, yet, but it would. “Fine,” he said wearily. “Go. Send Bond my regards.”

Q left, back ramrod straight, defiance too-clearly written on him; he was a truly atrocious liar, from time to time. “Thank you,” Q said with forced politeness, and left.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need for a 00Q fic that has Q as the dominant one and Bond as the puppy dog that follows him around... pleaseeeee? - anon

Q smirked, as a cup of tea was placed in front of him. Bond shot him a light smile, kissing the top of his head, moving back out into Q-branch.

M stood opposite, arms folded over his chest. He beckoned over Bond, who shot him a grim smirk; he looked severely unimpressed, and Bond resigned himself to a meeting in M’s office.

“Would you like to tell me what you’re doing?” M asked wearily, indicating the chair opposite his own; Bond declined, happy to stay standing.

“In what respect?”

“Your behaviour around Q. You haven’t left the poor bastard alone in days,” M pointed out. Bond’s eyebrow quirked.

“He’s happy with the arrangement,” Bond told him shortly. M folded his arms over his chest, and sighed. “What?!” Bond snapped, irate.

M was quiet for a long, uncomfortable second. “He’s a lot younger than you. You constantly being around him… you run the risk of overwhelming him. You’ve seen his history, he’s not exactly good with people.”

“… I don’t follow.”

“Be careful of not being… overly dominating. We need a Quartermaster with a spine,” M said carefully, and dismissed him.

-

Bond headed back to Q-branch, sliding into Q’s office. “What did he want?” Q asked, without looking up.

“I’m relatively certain M insinuated that I’m overwhelming and dominant,” Bond shrugged.

Q lasted exactly four seconds before dissolving into laughter. “Really?” he snorted, twisting to Bond; their expressions mirrored one another, before Q grabbed Bond’s collar, and dragged him in for a kiss.

“Don’t you have something better to do with your time?” Q asked sarcastically, indicating to the door; Bond’s expression depressed, very slightly; Q softened, kiss him lightly. “Go. I’ll be with you in a bit. Anyway, you’ll have a new mission brief soon.”

Q watched him go, biting his lip to stop further smirking. Bond, overwhelming and dominant indeed. He’d believe that when he saw it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi! Prompt : I need fic where Q and Bond talk and cuddle after sex. (They are a couple). Thank you <3 - anon

They fitted together perfectly, instinctively. In the semi-light of alarm clocks and blinking CCTV monitors, they traced one another’s bodies, mouthed kisses to skin, tasted salt and musk from one another, ivy arms woven through one another, holding the pieces of each other together.

Bond murmured words in his ear, words without shape, without tone or harmony, just weight, the gravity of care that had never been lavished on him before, not like this.

Q didn’t speak much. He spoke too much in his day-to-day life, words meant nothing. It was action that actually translated into something; Q nuzzled into Bond’s chest, fingers lacing through his, kissing him with desperate want, communicating everything through touch and taste and contact.

Q kissed him passionately, deftly, carefully. Bond was glass and fire, to Q, and he treated every part of Bond with equal reverence and desire. Bond told Q he was loved, and Q managed a breathless gasp, and sobbed against him, close enough to merge into him.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked, Q’s fingers digging welts into his shoulders.

Q’s breath shuddered out faintly. “I’ll lose you, one day,” Q intoned, as Bond’s hands stroked down his body, holding him close. “It’s inevitable.”

Bond was quiet for a moment. “Not yet,” he told Q quietly, breathing kisses into his hair. “Definitely not yet.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi. I just read a book about war world and.. prompt: Q and James are a couple.James is the captain / a soldier and he has a long military service. After two years he returned to home and Q. Scene at the airport please! hurt/comfort/angust?/fluffy? Thank you <3 - anon

Q had never wanted Bond to leave. However, once a military man, always a military man – Bond was a little too old for agent work, but he could still be an active army soldier. He needed it, he always had needed it. Q had to let him go.

Q missed him horribly, more than he could ever express. They were more fortunate than most, in that Q’s access to technology gave them far better communication than for most.

Yet, days could pass without him.

Q, naturally, settled himself at the airport, and waited. The plane was delayed, as was every other bloody plane at Heathrow in the winter. Q sat down, with his laptop, and kept tuned into MI6 while waiting for Bond to land.

When it landed, Q shifted himself to the arrivals barriers. He stayed on his phone, for the most part. People started dribbling through; Bond didn’t need to worry much about passport control, given his background. MI6 dealt with most of it themselves; Bond would be later than the common crowd.

Q had expected that Bond would walk to him, make some flippant comment, and that would be that. Bond, however, managed to surprise him. Q had barely caught sight of him, before Bond was running at him; Q ducked under the barrier in an impressive feat of flexibility; Bond hammered into him like a truck, kissing him with breathtaking ferocity.

“James,” Q swore against Bond’s mouth, teeth and tongue warring, Bond’s arms circling him, crushing him. “Fuck, don’t you ever leave again, don’t you ever fucking leave me again, do you understand me?!”

Bond shook his head, burying his face in Q’s shoulder, breathing him in. He was long past the point of being able to actually speak, heart hammering, trembling in Q’s arms. “Q,” he rasped, again and again, confirming the young man was still there.

“I missed you,” Q told him, grasping Bond’s collar mercilessly. “Don’t… don’t leave again, please, please.”

“I love you,” Bond told him. Q kissed him again, until he hurt, until he healed. “Q.”

“You won’t go,” Q told him, flatly. Bond didn’t deny it, and just for a moment, that was enough.

“Home,” Bond rasped, a long while later. Q, head buried in Bond’s shoulder, nodded mutely – home. Bond was finally, finally home.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hellow. prompt : James wants to meet Q's parents. Q don't want to talk about it. James finds out that they are dead. So Q and James visit the cemetery... hurt/comfort Thank you. - anon

“Bond, I don’t want to talk about this any longer,” Q said sharply; Bond barely had time to process what was happening, before Q was heading out the door, in their living room.

Q threw himself into the armchair, deliberately ensuring that Bond couldn’t sit with him. “What did I do?” Bond asked wearily, sitting back on the sofa. Q stared at the opposite wall, knees into his chest.

“They’re dead,” Q muttered bleakly. Bond’s expression didn’t change, but he reached out to the younger man. Q glanced up. Bond understood, more than most. “A plane crash. I was fourteen.”

Q ran hands through his hair, trying to avoid Bond’s eyes. Bond knelt by Q’s armchair, placing a hand on Q’s knee. Q didn’t cry, didn’t move. Bond waited until the tension had faded from his body a little before scooping him into a hug.

-

Two months later found the pair of them at a cemetery in Kent. Q had been disconcertingly quiet for the preceding few days; Bond let him deal in his own way, however he needed to, and just held his hand as Q led him to his parent’s graves.

They stared down at the anonymous-looking grave. The name was familiar, but not a surprise, and not Bond’s business.

Q’s breath shuddered slightly. “Are you alright?” Bond asked quietly. Q shrugged; it never got much easier. It faded, became less immediate, but it never went away altogether.

He shrugged instead. “I’ll be fine,” he lied, watching the grave dully. Bond reached into his jacket, finding a delicate white rose, constructed of fabric. Q looked at it curiously. “What…?”

“I was wondering if you would mind me leaving it here,” Bond asked carefully. “I don’t mind if you would prefer not. But these are the people who shaped you; I’d like to leave some form of tribute to them.”

Q looked at Bond, eyes narrowing very slightly. Bond just remained calm, almost impassive. “Ok,” Q shrugged, sounding remarkably fragile.

Bond leaned down, placed the rose on the damp earth. He didn’t speak; it seemed superfluous. Q remained still for another moment or so, before twisting around, head falling on Bond’s shoulder.

Bond wrapped arms around him, and held Q, as it started to rain.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Q is in an accident and loses eyesight completely. Bond attempts to comfort - anon

“I can’t work,” Q said emotionlessly. “That’s it. I’m done in MI6. I’ve lost everything.”

Bond was silent for a moment, head in his hands. He couldn’t begin to find anything he could say about this; there was nothing that could possibly make this better, could possibly make Q feel better about this.

“You’re going to have to say something, the silence is less useful when I can’t read your facial expressions,” Q snapped; Bond shut his eyes, hating that he had nothing decent to say, nothing at all.

“I’m sorry, Q,” Bond murmured.

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t attempt to speak,” Q hissed at him. Bond still wasn’t looking at him; the bandages over his eyes was too frightening to look at, reminded of everything Q had lost.

Q suddenly gave a strangled sob.

“We’ll work it out.”

“We won’t, you know we won’t. You can’t fix this, Bond, it’s done. I’m done,” Q said, and swore frantically, giving a sudden scream. “Jesus. What the fuck is the point, if I can’t, do the only bloody thing I’m good at?!”

Q curled up into himself, sobbing, shattering sounds. Q defined himself through his work; losing it was more than Bond could imagine, could begin to conceive of. He was young, he should have had years more before losing his work. If ever, given that he worked on computers; not something he would exactly grow out of. Quartermasters had been known to work for almost all their lives.

Apparently, not this Q.

Bond reached out to him, placing a hand on Q’s shoulder. Q snarled at him, devoid of words or eloquence. “I need this,” he whimpered, sliding between anger and pain in fractional seconds, seeking Bond while wanting him to get the hell away.

Bond didn’t bother speaking, as it wouldn’t achieve anything, ultimately. He scooped a shaking, hysterical Q in his arms, and held him. He had no idea what they would do now. Q was not dealing very well with it; he would need help, and not from just Bond.

Bond let Q cry himself into exhaustion. He didn’t mind Q hitting him with surprisingly strong fists, screaming tonelessly at sporadic intervals. He held onto Q as tightly as he could, and cried imperceptibly into his hair, hating that Q was right – this wasn’t anything he could fix.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dunno if you're still taking prompts but can I have one where Q listens as Bond gets tortured during one of the missions and when the agent came back suffers a break down. :D Thank you~ - loveless801

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for torture/depressive behaviours.

When a man like James Bond starts to cry, it gives a rather pressing sense of gravitas to any given situation.

Q was allowed to remain on the mission despite everybody’s better judgment, including Q’s own. Apart from anything else, he absolutely refused to leave MI6; when M threatened to drug him, Q threatened the security of M’s personal computers and phones. An impasse reached, Q was allowed to stay.

Bond was in enemy hands for three days, fourteen hours, thirty-seven minutes. Q did not sleep in that time. The medical branch were nearly called in; while it was technically possible to go without sleep for prolonged spates, given the emotional trauma, it was deemed unhealthy. Q told them, in colourful language, where they could go. They left again.

“We have Bond, medical team are dealing. He’s alive.”

Q waited patiently, looking placid and drawn, until Bond was in a secure location. At which point, he promptly moved into his office, and passed out to the echoing sounds of Bond screaming.

\- 

Q didn’t see Bond for another three weeks; he needed physical rehabilitation, enough to keep him vaguely stable. He would require outpatient monitoring, but really, god help anybody who tried to keep Bond in a hospital bed for longer than absolutely necessary.

He had been all over the place; Q-branch watched its leader with no small degree of concern, as a twitchy, anxious Q worked his way around various projects. He hadn’t managed much contact with Bond; by all accounts, he was barely back to speaking yet.

Q was worryingly thin, haggard. Everybody was more than a little frightened for him.

“I get tortured, yet you’re the one looking like an Auschwitz survivor,” Bond quipped drily, voice croaking and weak. He had made his way to Q-branch immediately; Q knew he was being transferred back to the UK, but nobody had given him much further information. Everybody was far too cautious about upsetting him, given his current state.

Q nearly dropped the mug. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Sorry, Bond, I’m sorry, I just… fuck… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“What in the hell for? It’s not your fault. In any case, no lasting physical damage. Superficial but painful. Q? Q?”

Q’s body decided to stage a small rebellion against his brain. His brain conceded defeat. Q passed out.

Q woke up in Bond’s bandaged arms, held like a child. Bond didn’t ask any questions, something that Q was horrendously grateful for; Q sobbed against him, birdlike skeleton pressed to him, shuddering.

“I’m alright, Q,” Bond told him, pressing Q’s head into his shoulder, keeping the younger man safe. Both could have said a dozen things; that this situation was liable to repeat itself, that neither was safe, that Q cared too much, that Bond wouldn’t watch Q kill himself like this. But then, words were superfluous.

Bond fed Q a banana, and Q fitted Bond with several dozen new forms of tracker and distress beacons. They put up with the other, because it was too cruel not to.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Prompt: There are so many fics out there with Q living after Bond is killed. Can you do one where Bond is living after Q is killed? - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for character death.

They didn’t reach him in time.

After just over a week of searching, the unit broke into the complex, took out the team that had abducted Q, and found their Quartermaster lying on the floor of one of the central rooms. He had been dead barely two hours. The group that had abducted him were on their way out when MI6 arrived.

Bond was allowed to see the body. He broke several things shortly afterwards.

Q was twenty-seven when he died. He had been Quartermaster for two and a half years. He had been in a relationship with James Bond for almost exactly two years. He missed his twenty-eighth birthday by a week. He missed his anniversary with James by twelve days. He left a legacy in MI6 of unflinching brilliance in his job, and utter ineptitude at poker.

Bond took a leave of absence from MI6, and nobody asked any questions on the subject.

-

His liver would probably never recover. Most of him probably wouldn’t. He had lost too much. There comes a point when there is just too much, everything becomes too much. It becomes easy to believe you will never find any form of joy that will not be ripped from you. Loss becomes the norm.

Q had been steady, where Bond was not. Q was based in Q-branch, could always be traced, was constantly there. He was contactable at absurd hours, and in Bond’s case, would put up with spurious reasons. He had a voice like amber, and temper like magnesium.

Bond couldn’t believe somebody like that could die, let alone had died. It hadn’t been his fault. It didn’t change the fact that Q was dead.

Oh god, Q.

-

He came back to MI6, of course, and nobody said a word, which was wise. He met the new Q, and didn’t flinch; it was only a letter. It wasn’t his Q, the young man who had built a gun with special features that made Bond wince slightly, but also had brought Bond chocolate once for no good reason other than because.

“007, your equipment.”

No pens. Not surprising. Bond swallowed words, and went back to work. It’s what he always did. It was what he was good at. Sublimating loss. Pretending. Moving on.

Q joined the legacy of people lost in 007’s past. He smiled mockingly as Bond continued living, and commented, as they all did, as everybody did these days. It was never quiet.

“I miss you,” he dares say to air, one night. For a long moment, everything is perfectly silent.

He doesn’t hear a reply. But then, he wasn’t expecting one.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooo idk if you're taking prompts right now but here's one that's bouncing around in my brain and wont leave. Bond and Q have become best friends, something Bond has never had. In an effort to not lose the friendship, Bond viciously stops himself from thinking of Q sexually. But then Bond runs into Q on a date with another 00, and realizes he's madly in love with his best friend...happy ending please? - blueskycloud9

“Yes, I’ll cover it,” Q snorted, as Bond pleaded with Q for an evening off-grid, with the gorgeous blonde he’d found in Egypt. “Try to not get an STD, and if you break the transmitter I gave you, I swear I will never forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Bond replied sincerely. “I have your gun, by the way.”

“There’s a nice novelty,” Q snorted. “Go.”

-

Bond had never been quite as close to anybody as he was to Q. Q was the closest friend he had ever managed to acquire, and Bond was loathe to lose that. He would have loved to have taken matters further, but Bond had never been with a lover for more than six months, in his entire life. He didn’t want to lose Q too.

The woman he slept with was boring and blonde and nothing like Q; Bond could not allow himself to consider Q as a point of interest, so he remained away, slept with people that could never remind him.

Q was too young. Being a double-oh was too volatile. Q needed somebody stable, somebody as intelligent as he was. Q was beautiful and fragile, and Bond could break him too easily.

Q was Bond’s closest friend. He would stay that way. Bond would not risk breaking anybody else.

-

“Bond?” Q asked, quietly confused; Bond’s eyes widened.

The pub around the corner from MI6 was a popular hangout, unsurprisingly – however, Bond wasn’t supposed to be back in the country yet. His mission had been under M’s direct supervision, and Q hadn’t known he was back yet.

“007!” a delighted voice noted; Bond had enough time to place the voice as 003, before he was having his hand shaken, and was trying to come to terms with the possessive hand that he could see placed on the small of Q’s back.

“Bond, you’ve met Michael then?” Q said, with a bright smile, looking between Bond and his date.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb…”

003 interjected before Q managed to form a sentence; Q actually looked impressively out of his depth, his expression impressively apologetic. “It’s alright,” Michael said happily; Bond watched the fingers grip a little tighter, and restrained the urge to break 003’s nose. “I thought somebody ought to take out the gorgeous young Quartermaster. I’m just glad I beat the competition.”

“What competition,” Q snorted, shifting slightly, Michael’s hands falling from him.

003 didn’t reply. He just smirked at Bond.

“We should go,” Q said quickly, spotting the beginnings of something lethal in Bond’s expression. “I’ll talk to you soon, James. I’m glad you’re home safe.”

“I have your tracker.”

Q grinned, a genuinely beautiful thing, and Bond left the pub very quickly, his head thrumming a constant mantra, even as he imagined Q and 003 together, 003 kissing away Q’s sarcasm. Bond knew Q better than most, certainly, and he knew – he knew how he would treat Q, how he would love him, hate him, fight and mend and be everything Q needed, while Q remained everything he wanted.

It should have been him.

-

Q was going mad.

He was absolutely, definitely going mad.

He couldn’t stop thinking about James Bond, no matter what he did.

And that definitely meant he was going mad.

-

Bond slid into Q-branch. Q looked up, blushed horrendously, and glanced down at his desk. “So how was your date?” Bond asked, voice ever so slightly edgy.

Q continued to stare at the desk. “Good,” he said carefully. “Bond…”

Bond placed the transmitter on the desk, and Q made a very strange noise. “Are you alright, Q?” Bond asked, and placed a hand lightly on Q’s arm. Q jumped, twisted to Bond, lips very slightly parted.

Q nodded. Bond continued to watch him, eyes narrowing slightly.

He leaned forward, and kissed Q gently. Q’s eyes widened in shock. There was a gap of several disjointed minutes, before Q began kissing him back with startling intensity, devouring him, nearly bowling Bond over.

“It didn’t work out with Michael,” Q rasped against Bond’s mouth. Bond snorted, kissing him again, lifting Q up, Q’s lithe frame knotting around him, balanced between Bond and the desk.

“I gathered.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the blindness fill; I was really looking for angst. Another prompt: Vampire!Q and Werewolf!Bond - anon

Bond really should have seen it coming.

Q was never going to be fully human. Absurdly intelligent, managed to remain looking exactly the same no matter how much time passed. Refused to go anywhere near the medical area. Never ate a damn thing.

Bond was on medication; his problem only rarely presented itself, unless it was a high-stress scenario, and hormones won over drugs. The last couple of times, he had controlled himself well enough to avoid anybody getting seriously hurt.

Q had no such compunctions. He knew what he was, and he tried to be sensible about it. He hadn’t killed anybody unintentionally in over fifty years, but knew he would by his nature hurt people.

He designed his personality in each new time period, each time he needed a new job, a new start. He’d worked around the world in various jobs, until his age became impossible to hide any more. Sadly, after five years in MI6, he needed to move on. Makeup and dress could go some ways into keeping his age concealed, but then, he’d also had a few years before joining MI6, constructing his back story.

Humans did not like the supernatural; there was a dim, rising awareness of werewolves, vampires, sprites in the world, but humans did not trust nor understand them. Q was happy to keep himself carefully hidden, from his fellows, from humans.

Leaving MI6 would not be easy, obviously, but could be done. He would stage his own kidnap, and go missing shortly afterwards. Lie low somewhere in Russia, as he tended to do between jobs, and wait to head back into the world when he could.

He hadn’t counted on Bond. Few did. Bond spent his entire life being a goddamned spanner in the works.

Bond ended up working it out all on his own. Just the simple fact that Q was not – could not be – entirely human. Bond knew a lot about it, after all – he had researched his own condition, and other supernatural conditions, in stupid amounts of detail. Q was very, very good, but nobody tended to suspect supernatural explanations for things that were ‘a little odd’.

M just thought Q was odd. Bond agreed, but also deliberately cut his finger in front of Q, and watched the reaction.

Q rolled his eyes, shut the door. “You’re a werewolf,” he said bluntly.

“Says the vampire,” Bond retorted cockily. Q ran a hand through his hair, and sat back heavily in his desk chair. “I’ve met a few vampires now. Not all bad people, but recognisable when you spend enough time around them.”

Q buried his head in his hands. “Superb. Are you planning to tell anybody about this?” he asked tiredly. “I’ve kept this hidden for a long while without issues. The last person who worked it out died very shortly afterwards.”

“You won’t kill me.”

“Your blood’s corrupted,” Q agreed, with a small hiss at Bond. “Why, couldn’t you have just bloody _left it_?!”

“You’re going to have to leave MI6 at some stage, yes?” Bond asked, arms crossed over his chest. Q looked at him incredulously; of all the questions to ask, he decided to go for _that one_. Of course. Only James bloody Bond. “Let me come with you.”

Q looked confused for a long and lovely moment, one that Bond would cherish for a long while. He never looked confused. “Why would you want to?”

Bond gave a sideways smirk, and took a few steps towards Q. Q’s nose wrinkled; Bond wrapped his finger in his shirt, and kissed Q gently.

“This is going to end badly,” Q noted, as he started to kiss Bond back with passion born of too many years without contact. Bond growled slightly.

“Almost certainly.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schizophrenic!Q please? - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve tried to make it as accurate as possible, and have used a subtype of schizophrenia which I think would apply more directly to Q’s case (age, and also his behaviour in Skyfall). Jen.

Bond wouldn’t have noticed, if it hadn’t been for Q replying.

Q had heard the occasional voice for years; they were distant, intangible mostly. As time wore on, they had become more pronounced. He was getting used to them now, and terrifyingly, knew what they meant.

He didn’t want this, so he refused to deal with it. He told the voices, as they grew more prevalent, to leave him alone. He fought against the lethargy that started to leak through his bones, he worked harder, wouldn’t let this hit him as he knew it could.

He fought against the positive symptoms because they were so much more obvious, and so much easier to deal with. When he noticed himself cursing at voices he _knew_ nobody could hear, he stopped. He fought. He ignored it, and got hold of anti-psychotics through an old family friend who knew his real name, and would not tell a soul about what was happening to Q.

The negative symptoms were more dangerous, and harder to fight. It was the invisible curse; he had no idea how he was supposed to fight against things that were _not_ happening. He didn’t want to move, to speak, and that was the impossible bloody thing to fix. Required willpower, and also the introspection to know when you were losing.

Q kept fighting with ever mounting degrees of sheer fucking terror. His family friend had the diagnosis on a small piece of paper somewhere, and Q came back and back, _knowing_ that this was something he wasn’t fighting well enough.

He was scared, tangibly scared. Bond knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t work it out, and Q refused to tell him.

“I’m not crazy,” he rasped at nowhere, and carefully lined up his new medications, hoping something of them would work before he started to fall away.

The positive symptoms were under control after a few months; the voices faded out back into the periphery, the sensation that he could take over the world with a few sentences was tempered, vaguely. He had been mercifully free of delusions, for the most part, barring some grandiosity that the lethargy tended to render null.

Schizophrenia. Hebephrenic, or disorganised, schizophrenia. Unpredictable and volatile. Predominantly negative symptoms, of bloody course, at least in Q’s case. The occasional spontaneous outburst of laughter that wouldn’t go away, kept him bent over, giggling incessantly.

“Bond, I’m scared of going insane,” he whispered, once, a long while ago, when all of this was just starting. Bond had laughed away his fears, and Q had almost-smiled and pretended it was nothing. It had to be nothing.

The voices started again. “Please, go away,” he whispered at them, sobbing. This was too much, he couldn’t keep going through this – every time he stabilised, something changed, his brain threw another curveball, and everything started again.

Bond watched Q deteriorate by fractions. He stopped talking, at one stage. A shell named Q wouldn’t get up, wouldn’t move. “We can fix this,” Bond told him at one point, while Q blinked, his brain and body working independently, or possibly not working at all. Bond couldn’t tell. Neither could Q.

“We will find a way to fix this,” Bond repeated to Q’s shell, and called the MI6 medical team.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you do one where Q is in a nice relationship with another man after james rejected him? - anon

Dan was a lovely boy. One of the Q-branch kids, as the adolescent-looking boys and girls that ran Research and Development had been nicknamed; Dan was sweet and tender, loved passionately and immediately. Safe and sensible and balanced and intelligent. They conversed easily on a multitude of intellectual subjects, and were ostensibly well-suited for one another.

Q was in a lovely, safe, reciprocal relationship. He was also bored out of his mind.

He had found Dan by accident; Bond had turned him down, nicely admittedly, but still turned him down. A rather chastened Q had been alone for a little while, before Dan had shyly asked if he wanted a drink.

Q shrugged, smiled, agreed. There was no reason why not.

Several months down the line, they were still together. They moved in obvious increments, at obvious times. They swapped keys after a few months, moved in together for convenience at the ten month mark. Faster than many, but fitted the blueprint for MI6 relationships. The moved faster than the norm.

Q craved excitement. His job was excellent for that, but danger and devastation – in a manageable amount – was needed for a relationship. Somebody who pushed him, made his blood burn, showed him change, inspired change.

His thoughts tended back to Bond, and he hated himself for feeling like a lovesick teen about the agent. They were good friends now, but it was unlikely that they would have more.

‘Nice’ is not a very complimentary word, at the end of it. It doesn’t capture much. It is, ultimately, like ‘fine’; a word that is easy to lie, a word that doesn’t cover anything complex or exciting or brilliant or perfect. ‘Nice’ is like inoffensive wallpaper.

Q had never liked being bored.

Bond smirks at him through a CCTV camera, and shoots several people. He runs, and Q sets himself alight getting Bond the hell out of there. He is busy and electric, and Bond is irritable and laughing, and Q leaves Dan that evening because god _damn_ it, this is wrong, and doesn’t want to lie.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hai~! My prompt is a song (I'm sorry). The Mess I made - Parachute (again im sorry). - anon

He stayed at his desk, drinking cup after cup of Earl Grey, until the caffeine started to make him shake, and his brain started to bubble slightly and forget. He had done this so wrong. He had handled everything so badly, lost everything.

Q-branch had gone out for drinks. It was a bad idea to start off with. All of them were computer-orientated young adults, who had limited if non-existent social lives from the childhood into adulthood, and consequently had no tolerance for alcohol.

Q had drunk a lot in a very short space of time, as had Nicholas, a Q-branch kid who was close to being promoted to R these days. They wound up back at Nick’s flat, and Q woke up the next morning with a headache like hell and James Bond waiting in his colleague’s front room, with an expression that boded thunderstorms and rain.

This had gone so badly wrong, how in the _hell_ had this gone so badly wrong. He needed Bond to understand, he needed so much.

He didn’t try to justify himself, or explain. He stayed very still, speechless, trying to search for words and coming up with nothing at all, nothing. He should have done something. He should have run to James, he should have told him he was sorry, should have made it clear that this would never be repeated, that he had made a mistake.

He didn’t, and he truly wasn’t certain why not. Bond had made mistakes too. Not quite like this, but similar, and they had been able to work it out. They could work through most things. Not when Q just stood there stupidly, however, and failed to construct a sentence.

“Q,” Bond told him, his voice flat. “Goodbye.”

That was simply it. It ended, there and then. Bond left. Q lost him in one ridiculous evening, and the morning where he failed to string words together.

Q went home. He cried for several hours. He felt completely numb. He stared pointlessly at his phone, and thought of Bond.

_James, I’m sorry – Q_

_James, please reply – Q_

_I made a mistake, and I’m sorry – Q_

_Please, James – Q_

Q was empty, emotionless. He was dying. He missed James completely and entirely, and he would never have him back. Bond wouldn’t even look at him in MI6, except to take his equipment, exchange empty comments, leave.

_I miss you, James – Q_

Bond never replied. Days slipped into weeks into months. Bond changed his number. Q’s heart broke by fractions every time they saw one another, and he mourned everything, everything they had ever been, everything Q had lost.

“Goodbye James,” he whispered.

Everything turned white.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q prompt: Q was released from hospital after an accident on a mission with Bond, and James taked him home to take care of him. Fluffy and cute <3 you're an awesome writer!! - himezawa

“Bond, if I do not get out of this bloody hospital today, I swear I will not be held responsible for the consequences,” Q hissed at Bond, admittedly a little feebly, but doing his best regardless. Bond didn’t really doubt that Q would exact revenge in a very impressive manner if Bond made it necessary.

Q had been shot. This in itself hadn’t been problematic. Q, however, decided to try and extract the bullet himself, and ended up causing more damage. He had consequently bled profusely, and very nearly died in the process.

Bond had been mildly hysterical; getting Q home was certainly the ideal. So Bond, in his usual inimitable fashion, broke Q out of the hospital and took him home. Q smiled smugly for the entire journey.

“Earl Grey, and my laptop,” he said imperiously, as Bond placed him on the sofa carefully, blanket tucked over his feet. Bond rolled his eyes; Q was being unapologetically irritating, with his ailment as an excuse.

Bond put the kettle on, fetched the laptop, made the tea. By the time he placed the tea in front of Q, he had already patched into MI6, making a clucking noise of disapproval behind his teeth. “Q-branch are utterly useless without a leader,” he mused, nose crinkling.

“Go be enigmatic and brilliant, then,” Bond said in a voice laden with sarcasm, which Q completely missed, nodding in agreement instead.

Q wailed suddenly; Bond dropped everything he was doing, assuming pain, assuming almost anything. “They tested the tracer prototypes without me!” he cried, looking truly devastated. Bond gave a literal yell of frustration.

“Q, you can’t do that,” he told Q, in fury. “I worry about you enough, without you making this worse.”

“I’m not making it worse,” Q whined, eyes going far wider, pleading for sympathy and care and attention, and god damn it, Bond was completely pathetic when faced with Q being endearing.

Bond settled himself down next to Q on the sofa, and folded the skinny boy into his arms. Q gave a little huffing purr of satisfaction, leaning on Bond’s chest, tapping away on the laptop with Bond’s arms around him.

“You’re not allowed to come on missions with me again,” Bond told him quietly.

“If you didn’t manage to end up shooting things on _every single mission_ , I wouldn’t be in any danger at all,” Q retorted primly, still typing. Bond pulled his head away from the laptop with difficulty, dropping a kiss onto his lips. Q smiled against Bond’s lips, and the pair of them hummed together.

“I want to get back to Q-branch soon…”

“Don’t push your luck,” Bond told him edgily. Q smirked, curled himself up tighter against Bond, and resigned himself to working from home,


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dont know if you had this prompt. probably did but here goes . I want James to come home to Q who is beaten up some with split lip and bruises etch. and James having to almost pull teeth to get it out that Q was the victim of a hate crime and James finding the ones who did it and and scaring them shitless and asking them to try and beat his ass since he is in love with a man. just not a real sappy ending but a nice one. - anon

James pushed open the door to find Q settled on the sofa, with frozen peas against his lip, bleeding into a tea towel. “What happened?” Bond asked immediately, shutting the door with a slam that made Q jump, before rolling his eyes at Bond as he tried to tug the frozen peas off his lips. “You’re off for _one day,_ MI6 give you _one day off_ , and you end up like this?”

“Ow,” Q noted dispassionately, as Bond prodded the swelling over his bottom lip. “I’m fine, Bond, calm the testosterone.”

“Who did this?” Bond hissed, hands working to Q’s shirt; Q tried to push him off, but Bond just ignored him, pulling the shirt open and hissing in feral anger. “Q, you tell me _right now_.”

“Bond. No. Leave it,” Q said again, pulling the shirt closed with slightly shaking hands. He looked ashamed, somehow. Bond was beyond angry; somebody had beaten Q, and relatively badly at that.

Bond growled. “You tell me _right now_ , Q, or so help me I will speak to MI6 medical. I’ll speak to your entire _branch_ if I have to, there has to be CCTV somewhere…”

“Oh, for god’s sake. I’ve had worse beatings than this in primary school,” Q scoffed, lying via hyperbole. Bond raised an eyebrow, and pressed slightly on Q’s rib on the left hand side. Q nearly leapt through the roof with a yell of pain.

“Tell me,” Bond asked, voice softer, cradling Q’s hand. He tucked a hand under Q’s chin, lifting his head so they kept eye contact, Q watching Bond with apologetic sadness.

Q shrugged. “They… erm. They were drunk. I think they live around here somewhere, they’d seen us together anyway… erm… I was… I was taking the bins out, actually… Pretty drunk, yeah, just… kids, really, chavs… they remembered seeing us. They were the ones who catcalled the other day, after dinner.”

“Q, am I understanding this correctly?” Bond asked, his voice a quiet, lethal dagger. “You were severely beaten by a collection of homophobic adolescents?”

“They weren’t that much younger than me,” Q said quickly, determined to protect at least some of his pride. “Either way, I’d appreciate MI6 not finding out. Q-branch would never let me live it down. And I’m fine, Bond. Truly, I am fine.”

Bond’s expression was almost calm, which was honestly far more frightening than if he had betrayed true anger. “Bond. Bond, I know that look.”

“Do not worry, Q,” Bond said slowly, dangerously. “It will be absolutely fine.”

-

Bond was not allowed to kill them. That did not mean he would scare them senseless, however, threatening to.

Four of them, hands and ankles bound, gagged, staring up at him with unashamed terror. The youngest was nineteen, the eldest twenty-two. He had taken great joy in finding them, luring them, attacking them.

Bond had found the CCTV, watched it back; they were merciless, and cruel, and Bond had no intention of being kind to any of them. He ripped the tape off the mouth of the ringleader, who started swearing vociferously right up to the moment he felt Bond’s gun on the side of his head. “I understand you were involved in beating my partner?” he asked, with careful politeness.

“Nice fake, poofter,” the man spat. Bond shot into the ceiling; a fine sprinkling of dust fell over the man’s head. His eyes widened, and he shut up again.

“I would suggest an apology,” Bond told him, returning the gun to his temple. “I have a license to use this, if necessary.”

“Sorry,” the man grumbled. Bond ground the gun harder into the side of his head. “ _Sorry_.”

“Did you have any reason for attacking my partner other than bigotry?” Bond asked, eyes scanning the other three. One of them was sobbing relentlessly, clearly scared witless, staring at the gunshot in the ceiling and Bond with saucer-like eyes. The man Bond was threatening shook his head.

Bond stalked around the other three, pulling the tape off. All of them remained quiet, which was probably wise. “Alright. Believe me when I say it would be relatively simple to kill all four of you, and dispose of the bodies. A little more paperwork than I would deem ideal, but I’ll survive, I’m sure.”

The sobbing one let out a wail. Bond rolled his eyes. “Stop whimpering. If you’re able to attack a young man in cold blood, you can survive being threatened at gunpoint.”

“Please don’t kill me,” the kid sobbed; Bond’s lip curled in disgust.

He wasn’t intending to kill the four of them, obviously. It was tempting, sincerely tempting. “This is a little macabre, even for you,” Q noted from the doorway. Bond smirked; Q hadn’t used his name. Q was planning to have fun too, by Bond’s reckoning.

“Hello,” he purred, voice low; he was vaguely irritated with Q’s appearance, but not that upset. Q looked over the four of them with a distinctly merciless expression; he somehow managed to convey devastating power, despite the split lip, the bruises.

“I expect you are all wondering what damage I could conceivably do,” Q said lightly, extending a hand for the gun. Bond concealed a smirk with difficulty; Q deconstructed, and indeed reconstructed, the gun, in a matter of seconds, as the men watched with wide eyes. “I hope I have made that clear. My partner pulls triggers. I create the guns.”

The sobbing kid wailed again; Bond shot into the ceiling again, and they all quieted again.

“Be careful,” Bond said smoothly. “My partner and I are not people to anger. Perhaps you believe we are weak, because of our sexual preferences.”

“A completely moronic thought,” Q supplemented. “Given that your IQ’s are probably scarcely over the hundred mark, I can’t say I’m surprised. Interestingly, your physical prowess is also somewhat lacking; it took three of you to render me immobile for approximately five minutes. Pitiful.”

“Don’t try and repeat your stupidity,” Bond warned them. “Believe me, this could have a far less pleasant ending.”

“I hope this has gone some way to disabusing you of your preconceived notions of homosexuality,” Q said, without smiling. “If I see any of you again in the future, I will happily obliterate you from the face of the earth.”

“With my assistance,” Bond said, and he _was_ smiling. It was a terrifying sight. The two of them turned in almost-unison, walking out the door. Q left first; Bond hung back a moment, smirking at the four men. “He also created the handcuffs I used on the four of you. Wait five minutes. Then you can start shouting for help.”

With that, Bond shut the door on them.

-

“Thank you,” Q murmured later, bravado long since dissipated. Bond kissed him on the forehead, and went to use the bathroom.

Q crumpled slightly. Bond didn’t watch him swallow painkillers, a hand against his side, his head running through the catalogue of insults.

It was hard to be brave.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi I have a prompt for you if you're still doing them, do you think you could do a 00Q fic where Q saves the day while being a complete BAMF and everyone's reaction to it, especially Bond's :D - lady1011

Bond had been captive for three days. He was very tired, and very bored, and in a fair degree of pain. He was also dangling from the ceiling, which meant his arms were going to hurt like hell when they were released.

He could hear the distant sounds of gunfire; it either boded very well, or very badly. If it was MI6, everything was over, and he could go home. If it was anybody else, Bond was in a fair degree of trouble.

Bond knew he couldn’t get out of his bindings without help; he stayed, waited, ready to start shouting and stay quiet, and hope they wouldn’t decide to shoot him straight out.

The man who kicked through the door was not one of his captors and didn’t quite look the usual MI6 mould; usually, extraction teams were bulkier men with more brawn, and less brain. This was one smaller build, wearing a balaclava and MI6 uniform. Interesting.

The man quickly cleared the room with assistance from his backup, holstering the gun in his right hand, keeping the left one in use as he fiddled with Bond’s cuffs. Bond crumpled to the ground, irritated at his own state of physical dilapidation.

“007, you’re a useless waste of space,” the man told him. Bond glanced up, in unashamed shock.

“ _Q?!_ ”

Q tugged off the balaclava, running one hand through unmanageable hair, passing Bond a Glock of his own from an inside jacket. “We need to move out, 007. Suspend your disbelief a little while longer.”

There was a sudden flurry of movement in the corner of the room; Q fired two shots without blinking, and the man who was inches away from shooting crumpled over, very much dead.

Bond wondered absent-mindedly if he was hallucinating.

“ _Move_.”

There would be time to consider that option later.

-

“I was needed on site to get through their technological securities,” Q shrugged; Bond had been drugged by Medical this time, to get him to cooperate. Finally released, he had gone in immediate search of his Quartermaster. “It seemed pointless to waste my expertise, while I was there. Eve’s reaction was somewhat similar to yours, as it happens.”

“You…”

“Bond, I am a very high-ranked secret agent. If I couldn’t shoot, I would have died a very long time ago. I can take of myself. I generally choose not to,” Q explained curtly. “Is that truly so shocking?”

“You’re tiny.”

“Size is no reflection of skill.”

“Experience is.”

“We’re not doing this again,” Q told him, with a smirk. He winked. “Never underestimate me, 007.”

Bond snorted. “Couldn’t if I tried.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James/Q unintentionally says something to the other that reminds them of a past emotionally abusive relationship. - placeofold

Bond had actually meant it as a term of endearment. He had no idea of the effect it would have on his young lover. _My Q_. It wasn’t an especially possessive statement, not intended as anything untoward.

Q had darted back from Bond quite abruptly, a flicker of panic quite obvious. “Sorry, Bond. A moment.”

He stood, pushing hair out of his eyes, darting into the micro-kitchen of his flat, breathing heavily. He gave himself a few minutes to calm down – he deserved them. Bond was not… he was nothing like Mark had been. That was what mattered.

Q had never responded to a statement like that so severely. For some reason, the possessive clause, in Bond’s rumble, sent a spiral of discomfort, of fear, shooting through his spine.

Bond was reading a book when Q re-entered. “Are you alright?” he asked, visibly wary. Q shrugged spasmodically. “Mark?”

Q couldn’t help a very faint flinch at his name, the unpleasant connotations. “Yes. Very possessive. I don’t know, it threw me.”

Bond shrugged, placing the book carefully on the bedside table; Q noted that he was holding it a little too far away from his face. James Bond needed glasses. Q couldn’t help but find that rather funny.

“I’m sorry,” Q said quietly. “I know you’re not… not…”

Bond opened his arms, inviting Q back; Q moved without question, hating that he was weak enough to forget, to slip into instinct, his body responding to panic without conscious thought. “I know,” Bond murmured to him, chin resting in Q’s curls. “It’s alright, Q. Honestly.”

Q nodded against Bond’s chest, keeping Bond close, curling around him.

Bond was still awake long after Q had fallen asleep, staring coldly at nothing, kissing Q carefully, ready to protect him at a moment’s notice if he needed to. Q didn’t need to know – but Bond would never hurt him. Never.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a Cabury (someone who gets ridiculously drunk off a very small amount of alcohol) - placeofold

Q draped. He lost all concept of personal space, toppling happily over Bond and burrowing into his skin, hands roaming everywhere without any cares whatsoever.

Bond naturally found this out _while they were on a mission_. It was a meeting with Japanese contacts; it would have been insulting in the extreme for Q to refuse the sake they proffered at him. Q told him quite firmly that he shouldn’t, but Bond ignored him, so _really_ , this was Bond’s fault.

One down, he tried another when it was handed over to him. Bond surpassed his intake without really trying; he could still walk in a straight line, but Q, on the other hand – two shots of sake down, over the course of three hours – was completely out of it.

Bond decided to extract the young Quartermaster from the situation when it became evident that he wasn’t doing well; Q burbled against Bond’s shirt, pawing at his chest in the cab on the ride home. He also appeared to become rampantly sexual. Not the worst development Bond had ever experienced.

Bond wondered vaguely whether this constituted ‘taking advantage’; Q was his partner, and Q was hilariously insistent that he wanted Bond, and was still conscious enough to answer basic questions about name, age, occupation.

Q pounced on Bond the moment the door was closed on their flat, making Bond laugh a little, Q’s hands everywhere. They barely made it to the couch, Q kissing him sloppily, Bond kissing him back and taking him apart with motion.

They didn’t end up doing anything whatsoever. Q brought everything to an abrupt stop, as he fell away from Bond’s mouth, head curling on the sofa cushions with a soft, innocent smile; he grasped at Bond’s face, his hair, looking at him like he was something new and beautiful, and spoke a few quiet words.

Bond’s eyes widened, and for the first time in a long while, he felt genuinely shocked. Q’s eyes drifted shut, a sweetly gentle expression painted on his face.

“Love you,” he had murmured, before passing out. Bond sat back, eyes wide, feeling approximately similar to how he’d felt after a jellyfish sting.

Bond brushed a finger across Q’s lips, cheekbones, gossamer, pale, closed eyelids. “… Love you too,” he said eventually. He gently manoeuvred Q’s body into a more comfortable position, pulled a blanket over him. Sat at the other end of the sofa, with an arm on Q’s leg in a comforting gesture, and slept.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there! Your prompt fills are lovely! <3 I was hoping to ask for a little something in which Q lights cigarettes, not to smoke them, but for the smell, because it reminds him of Bond and it's comforting to him. Bond finds out and isn't quite sure whether he's flattered or mildly unsettled. Thanks! - cr1m5onthestranger

Bond tapped lightly on Q’s office door. “Come in,” called the voice from inside; Bond pushed it open, shutting the door behind him, settling in the chair opposite Q.

It took a moment for Bond to work out what wasn’t quite right. “You don’t smoke,” he pointed out. Q’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“No. Why?”

“Why does the entire room smell of smoke?” Bond asked, admittedly confused. It was fair to say that it didn’t make sense. Q didn’t seem overwhelmingly concerned with the utter lack of logic; he stared at Bond, completely impassive.

“I like the smell,” Q said carefully. “I find it somewhat comforting, a reminder of those who are of some importance to me.”

Bond was almost prepared to accept it. However – Q had no family or friends to speak of, and by all accounts, had been rather lonely for much of his life. None of Q-branch smoked. M was an occupational smoker, and not exactly the most friendly of people, let alone ‘comforting’.

Bond was really the only person who knew Q well, who smoked. The creeping flush beneath Q’s collar rather added to Bond’s little thesis.

“Don’t,” Q said quickly, as Bond opened his mouth to say something. “Really. Don’t.”

“Can I borrow one?”

Q rolled his eyes. He was well and truly fucked. He reached into his cardigan pocket, throwing the pack like a small missile, hitting Bond on the head; he looked at it. It was his usual brand. Well. Neither of them could really deny the obvious any longer.

“I know it’s not convention, but really, I think we’re past that point,” Q explained, with a shadow of desperation born of really not wanting Bond to think him a freak.

Bond lit one up, shrugged. Q watched him with a flat expression, his eyes softening as the fresh scent began to permeate the air. “I am perennially concerned for your safety,” Q murmured. “It’s rather pleasant to imagine you are… alright.”

Understandable. A little strange, but then, Q _was_ a ‘little strange’.

“Do you mind?” Q asked softly, looking up at Bond through surprisingly wide eyes. Manipulative git.

“No,” Bond told him. Q smiled. “My equipment?”

“Don’t harass me,” Q retorted quickly, as Bond deliberately wafted cigarette smoke in his face. Q huffed out a small laugh. Leave it to Bond to be that ridiculous. The man was entirely ridiculous.

Not to mention completely short-sighted, Q mused, as Bond looked through the new gear and they exchanged quick-fire banter. Evidently, Bond hadn’t joined the dots; Q felt safe with Bond, used his scent – the most immediate form of recall in the human body – to create a place of safety.

Bond just wondered quietly to himself if Q would ever gather the impetus to ask him out. He would probably have more luck waiting for hell to freeze over.

Oh well. Leave it another week or so. Then Bond would arrive – pack of cigarettes in one hand, vodka martini in the other – and shoot verbal caresses. Q wouldn’t stand a chance.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi its me again slightly shorter prompt this time q has an awesome cat who he takes to work monneypenny old q and old m knew about this this fic is new M and bond finding out about Qs cat who is highly trained to not blow stuff up (it lives with q who probably takes his work home) thank you love you guys your writing is awesome - griffing07

“How in the hell do you get away with it?” Bond asked, watching the cat with a fair degree of distrust. The thing was horrible. Really, truly horrible.

Bond had never liked cats. The things had their own agenda. Bond didn’t trust anything with an agenda. Q’s cat in particular was a nightmare.

The thing was named R. Apparently, he had once been named at the same time as Q had actually _been_ R. Q had always wanted to end up being Q, and knew he would end up being Q, so he called his cat R, so his cat would always be his assistant. There was a joke about R &R in there somewhere. God knew.

“I asked M,” Q said primly. “I work erratic hours, taking care of a cat would be near-impossible, and I am not giving her up.”

“It’s a cat.”

“ _She_ is a cat, correct. She lives in my office, and is quite happy doing so. My underlings take care of her if I’m occupied,” Q explained lightly, rubbing his nose slightly, smiling absently at the cat, who was curled crossly in the corner of the room, glaring at Bond.

“You’re not supposed to call them underlings,” Bond muttered, staring at the cat.

“So sue me,” Q shrugged, and growled as he glared at the notebook computer in front of him. “Bond, did you need anything?” he asked, tapping with his screwdriver, annoyed at the absolute lack of any response from the notebook.

The cat sudden sprang into action; Bond gave a harassed yell of shock, as the cat dived past him, onto Q’s desk. Q, far from shooing the irritating bloody thing away, cocked his head at it with sudden interest. “Yes?” he asked quietly, eyebrows emphatically arched.

The cat placed a paw on the side of the laptop; Q glanced, finding an SD card. The cat mewled. Bond decided he had slipped hallucinogens at some stage earlier in the day. The cat rolled his eyes at Bond. Q examined the space around the SD card, and calmly asked Bond to leave his office.

“Why?”

“Because I believe this laptop is rigged to explode. If I am to die, I would prefer not to take you with me,” he said, quite calmly. Bond was rendered speechless for a moment. “Problem?” Q asked, looking up.

Bond shook his head, and left the office. The cat smirked at him, and nudged at the USB port; Q cooed at the damn thing, attacking the notebook with a screwdriver and a prayer.

A puff of rather dramatic smoke later, the cat – and Q – emerged from the office. Both looked a bit bedraggled. Q looked slightly smoke-stained. The cat just looked smug. “Well done R,” Q continued, stroking the over-indulged cat, scratching behind the ears. “Yes, yes, you are _brilliant_ , yes you are.”

“How the hell did that cat…?”

“ _She_ knows explosives,” Q told Bond sharply. “I believe she recognised that I was distracted, and decided to intervene. I don’t know quite why. Either way, nobody’s dead. I merely need to fumigate the office. Again.”

“And that thing?”

“Oh, for god’s _sake_ Bond. She can live in R’s office.”

“R will take care of R?” Bond asked, a small smile playing in the corners of his mouth.

Q just rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi :) propmpt : Q and James are togrther. Q cat died. Bond does not know what to do... hurt/comfort/angst. thank you. - anon

“She was more than a bloody _pet_ ,” Q mumbled; he had finally calmed down enough to be coherent, but was still quite a long way from his usual eloquence. “She was… Bond, I’ve had her since I was twelve. I know she was old, but, I just…”

Bond hushed him, rocking him slightly. Q had found R on the sofa, curled up quietly, almost asleep. Bond had been asleep himself; Q’s sudden cry had him in motion faster than he knew himself capable of.

Bond had helped take R to the vet, to be buried. Q had been perfectly stoic about the entire event, until the moment he re-entered his flat, and R didn’t come up to greet him as usual.

It was a cat. Bond did not like cats. He had _never_ liked cats. He had really, truly, actively _hated_ R. Yet Q had been so enamoured with the cat, that Bond was actually slightly sorry to see it gone, for no other reason than Q’s upset.

Bond knew it would be foolish to suggest another cat. Q would rip him to shreds at the mere suggestion. He couldn’t make it any better for Q, who would still be devastated, no matter what he said. He could not fix this, in any way whatsoever, and he hated feeling helpless.

“She wasn’t in pain…”

“So fucking _what_? She’s dead!” Q shrieked, pulling away from Bond. “Bond, R has been with me forever. For god’s sake, she worked with me. _I changed her name_ to fit the job, to fit everything… I wasn’t a popular bloody child, I was a _computer geek_ , R was my only goddamn company.”

“Q, this will get easier…”

“I know. That doesn’t help,” Q pointed out. Bond couldn’t possibly deny it. Of course it wouldn’t help, nothing would for the time being, Bond could only hold him and hope Q would calm down soon.

Bond kissed him, held him, waited. Eventually, it would be calm, it would be quiet. Q breathed, Q wept, Q grieved. Bond could only watch, and wait, and look after him if he could.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely people! :) I have a prompt. :P Jen, would you mind writing a fluffy drabble where Bond is obsessed with using a Polaroid camera to take pictures of Q? :) thank you in advance! I love you both loads. - shippingintheshadows

The flash of light made Q jump violently, very nearly upsetting his mug of Earl Grey; he twisted around with an expression of absolute fury. “Bond, you have _got_ to stop doing that!”

Bond looked far from repentant; the camera vomited a small square photograph, currently a dull grey. He tugged it out, waving it around a little, letting it gradually develop.

Q was at his computer. Obviously. He had a lovely expression of quiet concentration, something Q alone could encapsulate so perfectly, and Bond liked pictures. He had never been with anybody long enough to form a relationship where photos were applicable; now, he could document moments, experiences, developments.

Consequently, Q was subject to constant camera flashes. “If I lose you, like I’ve lost everyone else, I want to remember,” Bond told him; Q growled slightly. It wasn’t fair of Bond to be that obviously coercive.

“I will not die. And if I do, I’d like you remember me for more than just some snapshots!” Q pointed out; Bond assumed an expression akin to a kicked puppy. Q rolled his eyes, returned to his computer.

Another flash of light. “ _Bond_ ,” Q snapped at him. “ _Out. Now_.”

He would not look at Bond. He would absolutely definitely _not_ look at Bond. Bond would be fixing that endearing bloody expression again, and Q would never survive that.

Bond did a disappearing act. Q looked up, Bond was gone.

Bond _sneaked his head over the edge of the desk_ , camera in hand.

Another flash of light; this time, it was right in Q’s face. Q gave a frantic wail, while Bond straightened, his expression ridiculously satisfied. The square photograph slid into his hand; he waved it, it developed. Q looked confused, slightly lopsided, his glasses sliding a little, seeking Bond who was quite definitely not there.

“Why are doing this to me?” Q moaned. He knew why. He just didn’t _want_ Bond to keep on doing this. But he would, and Q would moan, and be very sneakily flattered at it simultaneously, and not admit to a word of it.

After all – Bond, or Q, could go any moment. Q could understand the appeal of keeping anything, everything immortalised. To have something left to hand on to, when Bond was gone, when everybody in Q’s life had gone. As they always did.

He would abide the photos. After all – he had the CCTV of the world at his fingertips. He could find Bond anywhere, everywhere. Bond had his Polaroids. It was okay.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt for you since I know you're going to create something wonderful out of it :] James has to go undercover as a schoolteacher. 007 can jump out of burning buildings, seduce a woman in ten seconds flat, and resurrect himself after getting shot. But children? That's a whole different ball game :D - blueskycloud9

Bond was going insane. This was the worst thing that had _ever_ happened to him. Karachi included. This was just… horrible. Truly horrible.

A three-year-old demon was attached to his leg. He couldn’t get it off. The thing was goddamn _velcroed._ He had dealt with most things in his life, but he really couldn’t handle children. “Beat it with a wooden spoon,” a voice commented drily.

Oh, come _on_. That was just unreasonable. This was difficult enough on his sanity without Q commenting from the sidelines.

“Detach, sweetheart,” Bond crooned at the child, picking it up under the arms, depositing it on a little chair. He was good at his job, he _was_ good at his job, he would _keep being_ good at his job. He couldn’t afford a slip in his cover story. He could certainly afford yelling at Q later, though.

The child smirked at him, a glimpse of hellfire in its eyes, and dived back at his legs.

Bond breathed, exhaled slowly. “Children aren’t a speciality, then?”

An _unbelievable_ number of expletives sprung to mind. Bond could not afford to say a single word of them. He breathed. He decided to wait until a lot later, and then say _every single one_ to Q. Probably shout a few, if he could.

“Something that size being that difficult? Honestly, you’re not really trying.”

Bond tried to detach the child again. It started _screaming_.

“It puts colloquial ideas of torture to shame. Place you in a room with single-digit children, and you’re…”

“Shh,” Bond soothed; the child sniffled, Bond wiping away the tears with a piece of tissue, the child glaring at him. It hadn’t said a word. Bond swallowed his hatred for this entire sodding circus, and prayed one of his colleagues would save him. Please _god_ , let somebody save him.

The child dived at his legs again, and fastened arms and sticky hands to him. Oh, for _god’s sake_. “I will never let you live this down.”

 _And I will make you regret this_ , Bond thought to himself, with no small degree of malicious joy. The child stayed attached to his leg. Bond sat down, and awaited rescue in the form of a twenty-something named Heather, who found the nightmare children _adorable_.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I was reluctant to give this to anyone, and thought I should just write this myself but pls as if i have the capability to write. However, after reading (and loving) all of your filled prompts, I trust this idea of mine to you because I know blooming well you're going to make it amazing. So, Q is heartbroken, Bond comforts. Would like it to either end bad or lots of angst. Be mean. Thank you ^^ - anon

Q gave out a wrenching sob. “Please, just stop,” he told Bond, batting the agent away from him, hating that he felt like this, hating feeling weak, pained, apathetic. Only Bond could get under his skin like this, could take him apart like this.

“Q, you need to calm down,” Bond told him, his voice very flat, very unkind, almost cruel.

Q sparked at him, anger lending words passion and fury, wanting Bond gone, wanting him to get the _hell_ away. It was his fault, this was Bond’s fault, and he couldn’t get past that point.

Bond had no right to be cruel to him, not after this. This was Bond’s form of comfort; edging sarcasm, sharp logic, refusing to give an inch, refusing to pander to upset or pain because he just didn’t know how to do it.

Q needed more than that. He needed Bond to adapt, and he either wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Neither was good enough, neither could _ever be_ good enough.

His body and brain were pulling apart from one another; he _hurt_ , everything hurt. His chest had splintered apart, imploding but snapping outwards, taking everything in him apart.

“I’m not doing this any more,” Q rasped, aware that he was incoherent, that he was far from logical, that Bond wasn’t listening. Bond had decided Q was irrational, and had shut off from speaking to him like a goddamn human being. No, he was just ‘overreacting’. Once that thought had occurred, it was impossible to quell, negated anything was feeling.

“What?” Bond asked, still the same tone, same expression, same _everything_ , and didn’t he understand that everything had changed anyway?

“I don’t _want_ to do this any more,” Q amended, red eyes staring at Bond, ferocious, lasers through him. “Get out, Bond. Leave.”

Bond didn’t argue, which was so much worse than he had ever expected. Bond just left, he just walked away, and Q was alone. He was better alone, he had always been alone, and knew it, understood it, survived better on his own.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope there is a place for 00Q prompts. My prompt is: slow built romance that starts from Q' unrequited love, goes through one night spent together, after which Q thinks that Bond satisfied his personal interest in Q and they can continue being just colleagues. But Bond starts to woo Q, stealthily, until there are mutual trust, care, comfort and devotion. - anon

Q felt like a hormonal teenager. It was very distressing. A mature, intelligent adult had regressed into petulant, pining teenagedom.

Bond – the subject of his irritating little infatuation – was making everything considerably worse. The bastard appeared to be taking a decent degree of joy in messing around with Q’s dwindling sanity.

He’d brought back _all_ of Q’s equipment, placed it on the desk with a ridiculous smile, walked out.

The absolute _bastard_.

-

Q was very, very drunk. He was aware that he was very, very drunk. He didn’t get very, very drunk often, but he didn’t have too many objections given that he was currently in the arms of James Bond, and James Bond was kissing him, and he couldn’t really be sorry for being very, very drunk if it got him to Bond.

Bond was very drunk, not very, very drunk. Both of them were more than amply drunk enough to think it was a really clever idea to have sex in Bond’s living room.

-

Bond didn’t mention it again. Neither did Q.

-

Bond brought back every item of equipment. If he missed out on a piece, he apologised profusely.

Bond brought Q tea. Earl Grey. He was actually very good at making tea, it seemed.

Bond smiled at him, in a way that became familiar and welcome.

Bond stayed late in the evening, waiting for Q to finish; he said it was to make sure Q got home safely, and Q believed him, because he wanted to.

Bond’s hand rested on his for a long moment, and Q gasped slightly, the contact searing his skin.

Bond talked to Q. He told him about his past, the person he once was. They made small talk. Q began to open up, to reciprocate; he told stories of his childhood, of his present and of his future.

Both exchanged the quiet hopes and ambitions that lived somewhere in them, neither feeling ashamed; some of them were absurd, some brilliant, all theirs.

Both trusted. More than anything else, that was important. Trust was the cornerstone of the people they were. It was impossibly important for them. By degrees, they learned to trust one another. Everything else, whatever it was, could wait. Whatever their relationship was, whatever it was becoming.

Q fell in love. Bond had fallen a long time previously.

-

“Dinner?” Bond asked. It seemed almost superfluous, by that stage. It was merely making official what they already knew.

Q nodded, smiled. Bond kissed him; slightly familiar, but still new, still wonderful for what it was. This… could work. It had a chance of survival. Q and Bond grabbed it with both hands, and loved every second.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, oh! Another prompt, my absolute favorite, is when one character is touch deprived. Like maybe Q was never hugged by his parents, not abused, and none of the other school children ever touched him. Or since he has little to no interest in sex, he just doesn't get touched that often. - concussedparanoia

One of Bond’s favourite things about Q was holding him.

Q was tense, tightly strung, elegant, any number of things. He didn’t indulge in casual touches, brushes, contact. Yet with Bond, he became intensely, bizarrely tactile. The first time they had kissed, Q had lingered, held on, kept himself pressed against Bond with a touch of need that was unfamiliar. Bond was not used to lovers _needing_ him, need was usually falsified.

“I’ve got you,” Bond murmured to him, gentle and soft, aware that he was dealing with somebody who was not especially good at physical contact.

He made an active, intentional effort the moment he realised. Bond’s fingers lingered on Q’s shoulder, watching the arc of his spine as he leant closer, the unintentional little gasp when their kisses broke, every part of him working so hard to stay close, and show he was loved.

“My parents died when I was young,” Q murmured, in the soft twilight, arms curled around one another like twin ivy vines. “I hopped between foster homes, I just… I never had contact. Nothing. I wasn’t well-liked at school, so… I don’t know, it must sound stupid.”

“No,” Bond murmured. “Not at all. It’s alright.”

The twilight faded into night, and Bond kissed his head, breathing in his hair, holding him as tight as he can, letting him drift outwards and into sleep.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know, we always have lots of q in an abusive relationship. could you write me one where it's bond for once? - coulsonlivesandfurylies

Bond was disconcerting. That was probably the most efficient way to summarise Bond, in general. He was the most inconsistent person Q had ever come across.

Never more so than now they were dating. Bond was simply bizarre to be around; he actually seemed to be avoiding the intricacies of a relationship that was more than just intermittent sex.

Q was becoming increasingly unnerved by it. Bond tended to duck out of dates, any mention of ‘commitment’ – or really, anything that could possibly be construed as such – and didn’t like spending time with just Q.

Oddly enough, it didn’t sit well. Q picked a fight, on one of the few moments when they were able to share a space quietly, and everything descended with breathtaking speed.

“… And I’m slightly concerned that you don’t actually _want_ to be with me, you just want somebody you can conveniently fuck…”

“No,” Bond said, with such power it made Q stop without a heartbeat of hesitation. It was almost frightening, the lethal power behind a single syllable. Bond looked like a hurricane captured; the swirling mass of anger and pain and devastation caught behind his eyes, and Q breathed a long exhale.

“Then _please_ explain,” Q managed, recovering some of his lost momentum.

Bond shut off from him. Emotion died in some closed box. “I have almost never maintained what you would categorise a ‘real’ relationship. The one time I did, it ended rather less well than I would have liked.”

Q was frighteningly quiet. “Explain?” he asked, voice almost shattering.

“I was in a severely emotionally abusive relationship for ten months,” Bond said, still with no emotion whatsoever. His voice was flat, almost robotic. “I have since been… wary, of committing to anybody who has the opportunity to take over my life, as she did.”

“She?” Q echoed. Bond glanced up, nodded once, sharply.

James Bond, abused. It was an almost-strange thought. Bond epitomised control, autonomy; it was difficult to imagine him being taken over by somebody else. He stood now, a marble statue, unflinching; a man like that seemed untouchable, and certainly not by a woman. Women were something Bond understood, could manipulate more easily than breathing, could take apart whenever he wanted.

Q nodded, inputting information, understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly; Bond didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink. It was left to Q to move forward, kiss Bond very gently, questioning.

“We’ll take it slowly?” Q suggested, gentle, tentative. Bond nodded; the kiss became passionate, almost frantic, and yes, _yes_. They could do that. They would be able to do that.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have this idea I can't get rid of, so I hope your perfect writing will help. 00Q fic based on Florence and the machine's "Drumming Song", pleeeease? Thank you <3 - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This requires a little explanation - I got caught on the idea of a drumming sound stuck in one’s head, and the song itself, and I ended up with a new concept that I’m calling "heartlinks". I hope it works, I hope you like it :) Jen.

Bond threw cold water over his face, trying to calm down, trying to get the noise out. It didn’t stop, it never stopped any more, pushing him onwards and onwards, closer towards his focus.

He had never intended to fall this hard, this fast. He had never intended to fall at all. The more he denied it, the louder it became; a throbbing, inexorable rhythm, linking him closer, twining his brain and body with Q’s.

His Quartermaster.

He was too young, and too fragile, and too bright, and too dangerous, and too _everything_.

The drumming had started now, though. It was something he could not consciously control, could not force out or deny or betray. It was stronger, the closer he came to Q, and receded slightly with distance; yet, even on his own, he could hear the distant, rhythmic banging.

Heartlinks were rare, these days. The chances of finding a heartlink were so slim, it was barely noted any more. It was the preserve of stories, like the concept of soulmates. Soulmates were automatically reciprocated, however; heartlinks were more nuanced.

It began with a soft drumming, sometimes imperceptible. Stories would say that heartlinks were found in those who had been hurt too often, couldn’t recognise love, couldn’t admit to it. Perhaps it was true.

Bond had started hearing the beating; steadying, grounding, uplifting. As time kept passing, as he spent more time with Q, the drumming became louder, became more prevalent.

It varied in speed, in timbre. Sometimes, in the depths of night, in a sharp day, it became faster, frenetic. Other times, it slowed beautifully, a soothing pulse that lived in the back of his head, familiar.

Pulse, yes. As Bond became more familiar with the noise, he found himself confirming age-old rumours; it was Q’s heartbeat. Bond’s body had tuned into Q’s actual _heartbeat_ , seeking out, connecting with, the only thing Bond needed.

As weeks passed, it became louder. Bond could almost say it was urgent. It was certainly linked to Q, he couldn’t deny that any more. He needed Q. He needed to be with Q, to love him, to keep him, take care of him. The need was starting to become consuming, distracting.

Q’s rounded tones were enough send the volume rocketing, even mere _thoughts_. Bond found himself mimicking Q; Bond could hear Q’s stress in the heightened pulse rate, discovered a horrible need to find him, help him.

This was getting absurd.

Bond was happy to ignore it. It was a distraction. He couldn’t foist his own ridiculous ties onto Q; for some idiotic reason, he had formed a heartlink, and it wasn’t Q’s fault.

Yet – the drumming became faintly faster, whenever Q was around Bond. It was only slight, but it was there. Q’s heartbeat responded to Bond, as much as Bond’s head mimicked the damn heartbeat. They went in circles, and Bond was becoming crippled by the pounding need that he couldn’t get rid of.

Bond reached out. He tapped, against Q’s palm, the rhythm he could hear in his head; not a word was said, but Q understood. The drumming was elevated again, Bond noted, as Q’s hands gently scorched his skin.

Q set his lips on fire. The drumming was everywhere, constant, merciless. It reached a peak, almost painfully loud; and then, quite suddenly, receded. Q continued to kiss him, Bond’s hands finding the rhythm in his head in the thrumming arteries under his fingers, a perfect unison.

Bond pulled away, both of them gasping for breath. It was still there, the drumming, but calmer now. Manageable. Not all-consuming, but satisfied, and comforting, a confirmation that Q was safe, Q was alive, Q was there and Q would continue to be, for as long as that sound was there.

Rapid and wanting and brilliant, and _his_.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Bond is interested in Q, but Q isn't interested in Bond.. but then he slowly comes around. - anon

Bond was a good agent. He was also one of the most promiscuous men Q had ever come across. For some inexplicable, horrible reason, he had focused his attentions purely on Q.

“Bond, get _out_ of my office,” Q told him exhaustedly, as Bond brought him back some trinkets from Russia, and a single bullet, which was all that remained of the gun he had created. The bullet had been extracted from somebody’s body. There was still grey matter clinging to it.

Yet Bond was persistently there. He seemed to turn up at both opportune, and highly _in_ opportune, moments. The middle of missions, and in quiet moments when Q honestly just wanted sleep; Bond had no compunctions about interfering regardless of time or place.

However – he was, for his faults, very good at wooing.

Q arrived in his office to find a bottle of wine, flowers. Cufflinks on Valentine’s Day – which was enough to make the Q-branch kids all squeal at the romanticism – and trinkets, of course. Each mission brought more trinkets, and less remaining budget for Q-branch.

“Q?”

The boy looked up, unsurprised to find Bond in the doorway. “Yes?” he asked, humouring Bond, waiting for the sentence to finally unfold.

“Would you like to come to dinner?” Bond asked, as he did, every single day, at least once. Occasionally twice. On one mission, when Bond was stressed and Q was in a good mood, he managed to ask a full five times in the space of sixteen hours or so.

“Bond, we’ve been through this.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Q moaned, exasperated, and fairly annoyed. “Are you going to keep on doing this?!”

“For as long as it takes,” Bond confirmed, not looking even slightly apologetic. Q groaned expansively, inches away from bashing his own head open on the desk.

“No.”

“No?”

“ _No_.”

“You’re sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Q cried at him. He eyed up the exploding pen he kept on his desk – a homage, admittedly, but potentially useful in a situation like this. “Oh, for _fuck’s sake_. Fine. _Fine_ , Bond. Dinner. _Just_ dinner.”

“We’ll see,” Bond smirked, looking delighted. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Dress nicely.”

“I always do,” Q griped, glaring at Bond unapologetically. Dinner. Alright then. Dinner was manageable. Bond was an excellent person to go out with; he was gorgeous to look at, between average and good as a conversationalist, and definitely with a healthy sense of humour. He could also kill a restaurant of people in a matter of minutes, if need be. Always a useful skill.

Q rolled his eyes at himself, and leaned forward on his desk, pillowing his head on his arms. He had a worrying feeling that this was actually going to turn out as a very good idea.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi i was wondering if you could pelase maybe possibly write an 00Q where 00Q is being flirted with why he's with james and tries to tel this person no but they keep trying it on and then they kiss him and he can't shove them off and they keep kissing him and hes pushing at the and then BAM james come out of nowe=here and is awesome it would be soo good!!! - anon

Q’s smile started out very genuine. “I’m sorry, I’m with somebody else,” he said gently. The man raised an eyebrow; Q looked past him, seeing Bond in the doorway, waving. The man turned, and sidled away before any trouble hit.

Q and Bond were just out for drinks. An hour or so later, Bond excused himself to find the toilet – at which point, the same man as previously, a lot drunker, slid into the booth next to Q.

“Seriously?” Q asked, now a little more irate. “Please go. My boyfriend is going to be back in a few minutes…”

The man seemed impervious to any comments, or any dissuasion. “You’re _beautiful_ ,” he slurred, as Q felt himself getting backer inexorably into the corner of the booth. “S’riously, you’re _wasted_ on that, that… _blond_ thing.”

“Like it or not, he is _my_ ‘blond thing’. Get away from me, _now_.”

The man seemed to take that as his cue to sexually assault. He dived at Q, reeking of booze, latching onto his mouth; Q darted back, head hitting the wall behind him. It wasn’t hard, but enough to throw his coordination slightly; the man was all over him, tongue trying to jab into his mouth…

Q gasped for air, as he was suddenly able to breathe again. He adjusted his wonky glasses, focusing just as Bond landed a truly excellent punch to the man who had just been attached to his mouth. ‘Kissing’ was truly an inaccurate term for it.

“You will stay the hell away from my boyfriend,” Bond told the man, who had erupted blood all down his shirt. Q nodded his gratitude, sliding out the booth, and staring coldly at the man below him.

“Ugly prick,” he said, just because he could. He was quite happy to follow Bond out of the pub before anything worse happened.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked, his voice low, dangerous; Q realised Bond had been quite distinctly controlled. He had wanted to rip the fucker to _shreds_. Not necessarily good conduct for a pub, however.

Q nodded. “Hit my head a little, nothing serious. Thank you.”

Bond didn’t respond for a moment, the pair of them walking with quiet, understated confidence. They stopped abruptly. Bond twisted to Q, hand around the side of his head, tilting his chin so their lips met.

“Thank you,” Q echoed, and Bond managed to smile.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First of all, fantastic writing. I've enjoyed every one of your pieces! Could you do a college story, perhaps when Q was back at school taking CS classes or whatever. Bond is employed to "look after" him, be his bodyguard, whatever. Q isn't aware of this and is surprised (along with the entire class) when Bond strolls in. Q is secretly pleased, even though he doesn't understand why Bond needs to guard him. Classmates/roommates who used to tease him are jealous, scared, you pick! - anon

Q was a skinny, anaemic-looking kid. It wasn’t that surprising that nobody liked it, and everybody found it unerringly hilarious to bully him as much as they were able. None of them ever quite managed to make the connection between their treatment of Q, and the status of their electronic devices.

He was the single best student to ever enter the hallways. He was a computer science nerd – which translated to practically wearing a target on his back – and could do more on a computer than almost all of his professors put together.

He hacked MI6. MI6 couldn’t simply extract a boy of his age; MI6 protocol dictated that new recruits had to be a minimum of twenty-one, for safety reasons. The real concern was in that other intelligence services – both for and against UK interests – could also find the boy.

MI6 intended to keep him safe, until he could be absorbed into their mechanisms. They already called him Q, in the files. It was something of a fait accomplit.

Q tugged his collar up over the bruises. They had targeted him coming out of a lecture, four of them, all of them trying to be extremely macho. Q had some self-defence skills, but relatively minimal, and was also losing the will. He didn’t want to keep fighting.

The materialisation of James Bond was a fortuitous development. Everybody took one look at him, and fell back slightly. Several feet of pure muscle.

Q saw him coming towards him, and felt slightly light-headed. If he’d upset this guy, it would cause more than a handful of bruises.

He was definitely coming towards _him_. Oh god. Oh _god_ , Q thought frantically, running through lists of who he could have possibly upset, which god he’d blasphemed against to deserve this…

“I’m Bond, James Bond,” the man said, extending a hand.

Q looked around. Nobody else around him. Definitely still him, then. He shook the proffered hand. “I’m…”

“Q. I’ll be calling you Q,” Bond interjected, before Q could reveal his name. Well, technically his alias. He hadn’t gone under his birth name for years. “I’m here to offer support.”

This was all getting a little bit surreal. “Sorry?” Q asked, looking anxiously at the gaggles of people who had congregated, probably assuming something interesting was about to unfold.

“We can discuss details later,” Bond told him; he heard the whisperings behind, turned around with an expression that spoke of lethal consequences. “Are you here for a reason?”

“Yeah, the computer kid owes us,” one of the boys called; a rugby player, built like a brick shithouse, sidled to Bond. His friends fell behind, egging him on gleefully. A full audience had congregated by this stage; Q had gone from lightheaded, to actively faint. This was not going to end well for him.

That was, until the moment he saw what James Bond was capable of. In a series of moves that would put many martial artists to shame, Q’s antagonist was laid flat on his back, groaning, almost in tears.

Bond turned back to a speechless Q. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

Q hadn’t been, as it happened. However, he was no idiot, and he knew his industry. He knew what had attracted attention in cyberspace, and had a fair idea of who – and indeed what – James Bond was.

He had his own security detail. How convenient, he mused, and would certainly reduce his level of general physical discomfort. “A pleasure to meet you,” he replied, with a mocking type of smile. Bond nodded.

“Shall we?”


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helloo! THANK YOU for taking these prompts and writing such beautiful stories. I had an idea about Q accompanying Bond on a mission, since the "target" was a music aficionado (etc.) who had very refined musical tastes. Q (unknown to Bond) is not only a talented pianist, but can compose his own music on the spot. (Maybe as a reference, on youtube, there's a video called "Bach's Prelude in C Major with a few added notes" where the artist adds his own spin on a classic piece. It's beautiful!) - anon

“You will need somebody with a more specific skill set,” was all Q deigned to tell Bond, concerning why he was on the mission. He bluntly refused to say a single word further, and Bond got bored relatively quickly; Q was good company, and an intelligent enough conversationalist to keep him occupied.

It did mean that they took the long route. Q was, of course, terrified of flying, but absolutely fine with a large tunnel underneath a massive body of water; they arrived in Belgium, Q looking none the worse for wear, dressed to look like a teenage – which wasn’t hard – and therefore had an excuse to stay attached to electronics the entire time.

The infiltration took a handful of days. Q somehow managed to not get bored, something Bond found frankly extraordinary, given that he himself was clawing at the walls.

“Do you know anything of music?” Q asked mildly at one stage. Bond shrugged. He knew the broad basics of classical music, couldn’t answer anything on modern pop music if he was at gunpoint. Q nodded, returned his attention to his laptop.

The next day, Q woke Bond to inform him of his _actual_ role within this section of the mission. “I have arranged a meeting with our contact,” he told Bond simply; Bond was impressed. Q could evidently use makeup. No longer just dressed like a teenager, he’d somehow constructed his entire façade as a kid of maybe twenty, if he was being generous.

“How…?”

Q couldn’t resist smirking. “I’m your son. I’m applying for a music scholarship at his school. It gets us both into the building. I’d prefer to avoid an assassination, but you may have no further options.”

“… you can play an instrument?”

Q smirked. “You have no idea,” he replied, with just a shadow of arrogance.

-

To say Q could ‘play an instrument’ was grimly understating the situation. He _was_ an instrument. His body moulded to the piano, and belonged there, and the music was fused with Q, somehow.

Bond could hear it through the door. He was loath to leave, but he needed to get information from his target’s office; he was forced to shoot one unfortunate who tried to tackle him, the silenced gun thankfully not interrupting the tune. He dimly recognised the melody, couldn’t place it.

Everything turned to hell in a hand basket. Four people died, five were left unconscious, and Q was still playing; the dextrous flicks of fingers onto keys, a counterpoint to the devastation being wrought outside.

Bond pushed open the door. Q didn’t look at him, only looked up when the unconscious, drugged form of the man he had auditioning for slumped to the floor.

“We’re done here,” Bond told his Quartermaster, as a new melody started swelling; it was dark, sinister, yet somehow compelling and commanding. The harmony line swept in an arch downwards, rising to compress again; Bond watched, struck mute. “What is that piece?”

Q looked up briefly, hands still working. “It’s nothing,” he told Bond quietly, as the piece tailed towards completion, audible in its motions. “It’s you. It’s music of you.”

Of course it was. Of bloody _course_ it was.

Bond couldn’t bear to stop him mid-piece; Q brought it to a natural, easy conclusion. “You’re good,” Bond managed, mouth slightly dry.

Q’s smile was pure wickedness. “I know.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm crazy, so ... please : James bought a kitten for Q. comfort/fluffy/maybe hurt. Thank you so much <3 - shipimpala

“Oh my _god_ ,” Q breathed.

The kitten was minute. Huge bright eyes, a ball of fluff, mewing pitifully for somebody to take care of it; Q was more than willing to oblige, gently scooping the tiny form into his hands.

“Maine Coon,” Bond told Q, who already knew from pretty much a single glance. He always knew, when it came to cats. Bond had learned to accept that, among the catalogue of Q’s eccentricities.

Bond had trapped the kitten in the bedroom, letting it run itself into sleepiness. There was a bowl of water and dried food in the corner, a litter tray next to it, and the kitten had curled up in the direct centre of the bed on the duvet.

“It’s a she,” Bond said, unsure of what else to explain. They had a cat. Bond had never expected to be so domestic.

“James, until fully litter trained, she’ll need to stay in the kitchen,” Q pointed out, stroking the kitten, who pretty much fitting in his hands. “Kittens panic in new places.”

Bond reached out, stroking the kitten, kissing Q.

“Thank you,” Q murmured, the kitten beginning to purr with disconcerting volume. Bond reached behind the door, finding the feather-duster thing that apparently kittens adored.

Judging by said kitten’s reaction, definitely. It writhed its way out of Q’s arms, darting for the red-and-blue feathers that Bond dangled around the room, the kitten darting to and fro. “What would you like to call her?” Bond asked, as the kitten caught the feathers; Bond tugged it away again, the kitten mewling in protest and letting out a pathetically tiny snarl.

“R,” Q said, after a surprisingly brief pause. Bond stared at Q, hoping he had misheard. “I like it. She can be my assistant.

“R. You’re calling your cat an initial,” Bond reiterated, with a slightly weary sigh. Q smiled optimistically, as Bond sent the kitten flying across the room, semi-airborne, mewing as it went.

Bond rolled his eyes. “R it is then,” he noted. Superb.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love your stories! There great! Prompt: Q was experimenting and manages to make himself a baby Bond finds Q and takes care of him. Fluff please - anon

Q’s final thought was:

_Shit._

-

Bond’s initial thought was:

_What?!_

-

The child was curled in Q’s dramatically oversized clothes, gurgling. It looked at Bond, reached its arms up imperiously; the child had to be less than a year old. “Where’s Q?” Bond asked the baby, as though it would be able to respond.

The baby didn’t speak, obviously. It jutted its arms up again, however, seeking Bond.

Bond leaned down, picked it. The moment he was airborne, it started _shrieking_ , in unmitigated terror, reaching towards the desk like it was some form of lifeline and – oddly – refusing to look down.

More specifically, it was reaching towards the touchscreen tablet on the desk.

Bond was putting everything together, and arriving at a very bizarre end – one he very much hoped was his speculation. There was a baby in Q’s office, dressed in Q’s clothes. It was terrified of being airborne, and was grasping towards a computer with utter desperation.

Very slowly, Bond watched the absolutely bizarre spectacle of a baby typing: _Experiment. Am Q. Adult cognitive capabilities in child’s body. No physical dexterity. Should wear off in a few days._

“Days?!” Bond exclaimed. He pinched himself, and made a mental note to get a drug panel done before the end of the day. The baby twisted to him, green eyes cold and intense, and nodded once, sharply. Yawned expansively.

Bond rolled his eyes, scooped Q into his arms. “If it’s a few days, you are going to need somebody to look after you,” he noted; Q discovered he was in the air again, and started bawling.

Oh, Bond was never going to let him live this down.

The baby that was apparently Q sobbed, wailed, shrieked; the moment Bond placed him back on solid ground, he calmed with almost comical speed. Bond sat down heavily in Q’s chair, experienced a baby _glaring_ at him, and blinked stupidly.

A few minutes passed.

Q started to whine. “You can’t even _speak_ , and you’re still bloody mouthy,” Bond griped. “What do you want?”

Q bit Bond’s arm with toothless gums; that was relatively self-explanatory. “Ok, lets find you something. Formula?”

There was a moment of silence, then a wail of such magnitude that Bond nearly dropped the damn baby. It shouldn’t have been possible, something of that volume from something that size.

“Fine, _fine_. Something else. You can’t have tea, you’re a baby.”

Further sniffles.

-

Bond’s final thought, as an infant Q drank milk from a straw – utterly refusing to use a bottle, despite finding a straw difficult:

_What did I do to deserve this?!_


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I ask for a prompt? >.

“The crux of it is, James, that if everything turns to hell, I am not your priority,” Q told him, his voice close to shattering. Q waited, hoping for a response, hoping for _any_ response – Bond just sat there, looking stunned, looking completely lost. Q stormed out of the flat; a touch melodramatic, maybe, but applicable.

At the end of it all, it was very telling that Bond didn’t even _try_ to follow him.

-

Q worked for several days non-stop. He moved in with R, as a temporary measure, while he was re-allocated another safe flat somewhere. Bond was sent on a mission to Uganda. They didn’t speak much.

-

Q passed out at work. Lack of sleep or food or rest or common sense. It wasn’t that surprising.

What was surprising was that James bloody Bond was hovering over him when he woke up, and apparently, had been lurking for pretty much this moment. “Oh, for god’s sake. Piss off,” Q told him, the world tilting sickeningly sideways when he tried to sit up.

Bond ensured he was alright, and then did so. Q was mostly just confused.

-

Q was sketched to be going on an active mission. To India. There was no way he could avoid flying. He had a panic attack in the strangely antiseptic-smelling flat MI6 had found for him. He cried for a while, calmed down, understood in a clipped voice that there had been no other option,

He discovered, the day before flying out, that everything had been rearranged. Somebody had interceded on his behalf, had found an alternative, and what was more, had enacted that alternative despite risk to personal health.

He didn’t know what to think when he found it had been Bond.

-

“You know…” Bond said from the doorway.

Q woke up, grabbed his glasses and his gun, and very nearly mistook one for the other in his haste. By the time the gun was cocked, he had recognised the voice. _Bloody_ 007\. Q hadn’t got round to fixing all of his security measures quite yet. He shifted that on his priority list. “What are you…?”

“… You said you weren’t my first priority. Well, Q. Things have gone to hell, and here I am.”

Q looked at Bond, really _looked_. The agent looked exhausted, the type of exhaustion that eats at bone and blood and slows everything to a crawl. Q runs through the lists of everything Bond has done for him; the little things, the Earl Grey that appeared on his desk every morning (and all Q-branch denied knowledge), the India flight, the little bits and pieces Bond has done.

“Do you love me, Bond?”

Bond smiled sadly. “You already know.”

“Yes,” Q murmured back. He stood, headed to Bond, placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Bond held onto him almost desperately, in a way that felt nearly foreign; he would not let Q go again. Not for anything.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you mind doing a prompt where Q and James are in a relationship but it's AU. Q then pole-dances for James, but it can be public or private. ;-) thank you and I hope you have fun with this! - shippingintheshadows

Bond had been told to find Q. This wasn’t in itself extraordinary. The intriguing part was that Bond had been told meet Q in a gay strip club.

Bond was not a jealous man. A strip club, however, was not exactly a place that inspired fidelity, in a wide cross-section of people. The idea of _his_ Q, surrounded by eligible and occasionally desperate men, was not something he relished.

He spent several minutes walking around the club, trying to find any glimpse of his Quartermaster. He needed to rendezvous briefly with Q to get his new trackers, and hopefully a workable secondary alias; while Bond was undercover, he couldn’t risk entering MI6 or anywhere affiliated with them.

The dancers around the strip club were on vertical poles, or dancing with one another; the entire place promised, or at least implied, sex of some description. Bond took a moment to watch; Q was nowhere nearby, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy the scenery.

The boy on the farthest edge of the room was the one to instantly draw Bond’s eye. Not the most technically perfect of the dancers, but moved with a sensuality that was utterly compelling. Bond shifted himself around, getting closer. Q would just have to find him.

The dancer’s dark hair fell in his eyes, whip-thin, scantily-clad body darting in and around the pole, using it in ways that bordered on obscene, and then transcended obscene and flew straight to Bond’s groin.

Bond’s mouth had gone very slightly dry, and then completely dehydrated, as he recognised a flash of grey-green.

“Q?” he asked, his voice swallowed by the noise around him.

Q caught his eye, smirked. _Yes, I know you didn’t see this coming. Like it?_

Bond’s voice caught in a low moan. Oh god, he was _beautiful_. Q sashayed off the pole, beginning to work through the crowd, targeting Bond.

His pocket dipped with the odd weight of something new; Q had slipped something into his suit pocket. Q winked at him. “Be safe,” he shouted in Q’s ear, inaudible to anybody else.

As Q walked away, Bond felt for the equipment in his pocket. Bond’s only real, coherent thought was: _Where in the hell was he keeping that?_

-

Far later, when the mission was done and Bond was home, Q would come home to a collapsible pole, set up in his living room. The furniture had, quite mysteriously, vanished.

“Those things are notoriously unreliable,” Q called out; he smiled as he sensed Bond behind him, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“I’ll take my chances.”


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q likes to mess around with Bond (like when he told him to get on the train at the last possible second) and one day Bond realises what Q's doing. Can it be fluffy if possible? :) - cornishpixieprincess

“New intel; back the way you came,” Q said, with touch a shadow too much joy. Bond swore in a collection of languages – he’d acquired curses globally over the years – and turned on his heel.

This seemed to keep on happening. New intelligence, late intelligence, managed to mysteriously appear about twenty seconds _after_ the ideal moment. This wouldn’t have been even vaguely of interest, if it weren’t for the fact that _every other agent_ that Bond spoke to never had that problem.

Bond found himself leaping under, over, behind, past things on a semi-regular basis. Once or twice, he could have sworn he heard rather unmanly giggles from the other end of him comm system.

“Q, you have to be a little more timely with these things,” Bond griped. It was never dangerously late; it was just late enough to make Bond’s life harder.

“Don’t be boring, 007, I prefer to keep you on your toes,” Q snorted back; in that moment, Bond knew. He just _knew_ this wasn’t coincidental. Q loved to mess about, and was doing so in spectacular style.

Bond smirked. Two could play at that game.

Later that evening, every tracker in and on his body went dead, all at once. The evening had been quiet, non-confrontational; nothing was supposed to go wrong, and yet Bond was off radar, with some tech that should have survived nuclear holocausts.

Q – who was naturally still in the office – reached a state of apoplexy almost instantly. The entirety of Q-branch suddenly whirled into action, bringing up CCTV, trying to track down Bond, or at the very least, locate his corpse.

The poor man was nearly in tears by the time they tracked Bond down. He was sitting in his hotel room, with a glass of whiskey. Quite ostensibly alive, and with absolutely no visible harm, barring the blood on his shirt where his tracker had been gouged out.

“Care to explain?!” Q gasped at him, relieved that Bond was simply still _alive_. Anger would wait until a lot later – and arrive, it certainly would. Bond was even plugged in to MI6 – he just hadn’t been answering.

Bond glanced at the nearest camera, smiled at it. “I prefer to keep you on your toes,” Bond purred, with a slight wink.

Q felt butterflies. How _embarrassing_.

“If you do that again, my revenge will be swift, merciless, and involve unpleasantries not suitable for this conversation,” Q informed him. “Now, I need to conduct the rest of this mission with you untraceable. Not acceptable, Bond.”

Bond smirked. Really, this was all Q’s fault anyway.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You probably still have a hundreds of prompts, so please ignore this or put it at the end of the line. I'd love one about Q wanting to propose to Bond and he's got it all planned but then everything goes wrong and theres bad luck and in the end it isn't at all the situation he had planned. But Q proposes nevertheless, because of love and so :) Happy ending please?! Thnx so much! - anon

Q had found a ring. It was simple, it was sturdy, it was silver, it was very Bond.

The issue was in the timing. So he had a ring. Excellent. It was a start, certainly, but it was a very long way off to walking Bond down some metaphorical aisle and getting _James Bond_ to commit to not-technically-holy matrimony and lifelong Commitment.

Q still capitalises Commitment when he thinks about Bond, and that is in itself questionable. Still, questioning is just a touch too scary, so Q avoids it in favour of buying a ring on the assumption that he will find a good time to present it, relatively nonchalantly, and then pray to every god in the vicinity for a decent outcome.

Valentine’s Day coincides with a mission, and a handful of bombings. Bond makes a dark joke about terrorists and their love lives, and Q wonders what in the hell happened to his ‘normal’ life, a life he had a million years ago when he genuinely _did_ still have spots.

On their anniversary, Bond is in Chicago, and Q is in Q-branch, and both wish they were not. But that is the nature of the jobs. They go with it, banter over the comm. system, and life trickles merrily along.

Q found a ring in June. It is now late November. He still can’t work out when to broach the subject. He is both terrified and exhilarated, and annoyed that every one of his tentative plans had died in the water with great aplomb. It seems unfair. The universe is conspiring.

He decides to cook them both dinner – Bond has a few days leave, Q simple told M he was taking some time off – and prepares what he will say.

Half an hour before the meal, the phone rings – and Q is summoned. Q curses several gods. This is _never_ going to happen, at this rate.

So he walks into their living room, informs Bond that he has to go into MI6. Bond seems far from surprised; he smiles, wishes Q a good mission. His expression stays worryingly frozen as Q sinks to one knee, with a ring box in hand.

Q stumbles his way through a rather inelegant speech, that doesn’t even faintly resemble what he had originally wanted to say.

Bond has a small mental swordfight with Commitment. He employs the spectral mental projection of Q to help fight. Bond wins.

He tells Q yes, a completely heartfelt _yes_ ; Q slides the ring onto Bond’s finger, the pair of them suddenly brimming with more excitement than they knew possible. They’re _engaged_. Genuinely, properly engaged. They can get married, have lives together, inextricably _joined_.

It was nothing like Q had expected. But then, really, whenever it came to Bond, nothing was _ever_ as expected. It was better that way.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write something where James calls Q Vesper, but doesn't realize it? And Q is too upset and a little humiliated to confront his boyfriend/lover about it, so he decides to take a vacation without telling James? I will bow down to you if you do. - anon

Q stared at the ceiling. He didn’t cry. He didn’t really respond at all.

Bond slept, clearly entirely unaware of what had just transpired; Q watched him helplessly, the memory of _her_ name still ringing through his ears. He couldn’t bear this. The betrayal sunk into him, everything he had feared; he was nothing. He was merely replacing the person Bond _actually_ wanted.

He breathed carefully, extricated himself from the bed. Bond snored, but otherwise didn’t move. Q grabbed the first bag he found, throwing some clothes into it; the rest he could pick up at HQ.

He didn’t look at Bond as he left.

-

Q was exemplary at disappearing and not being found, if he wanted. Bond, however, simply refused to let matters lie.

He had woken to find Q gone. He had gone into MI6 HQ to find that Q had _taken leave_ , and promptly left the country, with his most precious technology in tow. Bond didn’t have the faintest idea why.

He bullied Q-branch, the only people with the vaguest chance of tracking him down. Loyalty could fail quite quickly in the face of rather frightening threats. They relented.

He was in Belgium. Bond flew; it was slightly faster. He arrived in Belgium three days after Q had left, keeping Q’s location on a GPS.

The hotel was easy to find; Bond headed directly to Q’s room, knocking a handful of times. Q opened the door, looking exhausted, and fairly angry. “What do you want?” he asked coldly, not quite managing to meet Bond’s eye.

Bond pushed past him into the room. “Yes, by all means come in,” Q growled. “What do you want?”

“What did I do?” Bond asked, confusion roiling in his stomach. “Q…”

“You called me Vesper,” Q snapped, looking at Bond properly for the first time; Q looked like hell, angry and defensive and upset, more than Bond had seen from him before.

The rush of clarity made Bond feel faintly nauseous. Jesus. He understood, now. Q – a relatively vulnerable person as far as relationships went – had been called a name that wasn’t his, a throwback to the only woman James Bond had ever loved.

“You didn’t need to go.”

“Stellar apology, Bond, well done,” Q snorted. “Just go, would you? I’m on leave, you’re not.”

“I’m staying for as long as it takes. I was getting to apologising – Q, you _know_ you’re not just some replacement.”

“No, Bond, I don’t,” Q returned instantly. “I have _no idea_ what I am to you. I have a rather nasty feeling I may well be little more than an odd distraction, somebody to pass the time until somebody like Vesper comes along again.”

“Q, listen to me. You mean more than I can possibly express, in a way very different to her. You know that.”

“Do you love me, James?” Q asked, his voice very quiet, very breakable.

Bond knew the answer without needing to think. It was _Q_. His Q. The first man he had ever been with, the person to irrevocably change his perception of the world, to change his _life_ , for god’s sake. Of course he loved Q.

“Yes,” Bond told him, after an intensely short pause. “Yes. And I’m sorry.”

Q didn’t quite manage to smile. “Ok,” he replied. “But Bond – if I am a replacement, if you _ever_ make me feel like I’m just a replacement again, I’m this finishes. I’m not staying.”

Bond nodded. He could understand that, could live with that. It was fine.

It _had_ to be fine.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! First, I'm in love with this blog. Thank you for providing hours of entertainment. Second, could you possibly write a 00Q fic where Bond finds out that Q enjoys smoking pot regularly? I don't care if Bond is angry or decides to light it up with him. I just think that would be quite interesting. Thanks! - anon

The roof smelt sweet, in a way that was curiously familiar, flashed Bond back to a lifetime ago. This in itself was not concerning; the more interesting aspect was that Q was sat on the edge, spliff balanced between his fingers.

“Really?” Bond asked; Q looked around quickly, not bothering to hide the evidence. If somebody had come up here, it was far too late to try and cover his tracks. He didn’t look overwhelmingly apologetic. “Why?”

Q smiled; Bond couldn’t help but wonder if the calm was entirely his own. “I’m the Quartermaster of MI6, my job is stressful,” he explained simply. “I come up here, and… I don’t have to think. It’s not for long, it’s just a little while.”

“How frequently?”

“A few times a day,” Q replied, without hesitation. “I like finding some way of stalling my head, for a while.”

Bond debated his options; he could grow very angry, he could explain to Q all of the potential issues with addiction to a drug of any description. He could do any number of things, none of which Q would listen to; Q was obstreperous enough to find a way of doing it without Bond knowing.

It was always a foolish idea to try, ultimately. Bond smiled instead, and sat by Q in the haze of smoke. “You’re not angry?”

Bond shrugged. “What would be the point? I will not be joining you, however.”

“More for me,” Q said with a light smile. “I’m not… being stupid about it, before you wonder…”

“I trust you to not be a moron,” Bond said curtly, softening the anger with a light smile. Q blew smoke patterns into the dusk evening, and Bond waited with him until they retreated back indoors.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi Jen, you're an AMAZING and amazingly prolific writer! Could you write one where Q has a deep childhood "guilty" pleasure (ex. sleeping with teddies, daydreaming, etc etc), which he keeps to himself because Sherlock & Mycroft made fun of him as a child. When Bond stumbles upon this knowledge, Q feels intensely vulnerable. You can choose what happens! Thank you! - anon

“Q? _Q?_ ”

Q came to, seeing Bond in front of him, watching him with concern and mild amusement. “Everything alright?” he asked, smiling wryly.

“Yes,” Q replied quickly. “Everything’s… everything’s fine.”

“You tuned out for a moment there,” Bond pointed out, causing a flush to rise high on Q’s cheeks. “Q?” Bond asked again, more concerned now. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Q mumbled. He could not explain. Bond would fail to understand, and would mock him, as his brothers did for his _entire life_. He would be ‘spacey’ again, tuning out of everything around him to a white-noise space, thinking and seeing things that had nothing to do with the tangible world, and how could Bond _possibly_ understand?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying,” Bond told him bluntly. “Q, talk to me.”

Q glanced up at him, looking horribly vulnerable for a moment; he ran a hand back through his hair, mouth to one side. “I, erm… I daydream. A lot, I mean. When I’m on my own, or just when I’m anywhere that isn’t stressful, I just… my brain cut outs, and I… What?!”

Bond was snorting with laughter. “Q, do you think I haven’t _noticed?_ ” he asked, completely failing to suppress his smirks. “You spend half your time staring off places.”

“I what?” Q echoed, feeling suddenly terrified; Bond _knew?_ He had known for however long, and was now _laughing…_

“It’s okay, Q,” Bond soothed, bundling a rather confused Q into his arms. “It’s really fine. I don’t mind. As long as you’re alright…”

“I’m fine, honestly,” Q said quickly.

“Then it’s okay,” Bond shrugged. “You dream as much as you like. It’s never been, and will never be, a problem.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Q burbled, making Bond chuckle.

“Yes, Q. About right too.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I love your 00Q fics! If you're still taking prompts, what about one where by coincidence Q's real name is James Bond too, and James finds out? - anon

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“ _No._ For god’s _sake_ Bond, even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” Q snapped at him, looking harassed. “It’s not my name, really, it’s something I was born with. It’s gone now.”

“Embarrassing name, then?” Bond asked with a ridiculously wide grin. “Come on, Q, it can’t hurt…”

“Believe me, it can,” Q muttered, trying to distract himself with coding and fading spectacularly. He waved his hands in the air in frustration, writing off his ability to do anything useful in the face of his bloody ridiculous boyfriend.

“I won’t…”

“ _No_.”

“I…”

 _“Bond, enough!_ ” Q cried at him, burying his head in his hands. “I told you, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.”

“Try me,” Bond purred, hands snaking to Q’s shoulders, long fingers seeking the knots in the muscle and starting to coax them out. Q whined slightly.

“James,” he said eventually, as Bond continued the massage.

“Yes?”

“No. That was my name. James,” Q replied, a slight flush rising in his cheeks. Bond stopped, eye narrowing.

“Embarrassing name?”

“It gets better,” Q mumbled, the flush turning from a light pink to a rather startling crimson as Bond watched. “My parents were Carol and David Bond. I’m James Bond. My name was bloody well _James Bond_.”

Bond took a sudden step backwards. “You’re… jesus. That’s…”

“Fucking unlikely, for one,” Q conceded, debating the chances of getting Bond to give him a full massage later, distracting himself from actual thought about his old name. “I, erm…”

Bond shrugged, returned his attention to Q’s shoulder; Q purred slightly under ministrations, as Bond chuckled slightly. “As you said, it’s not your name any more,” Bond mused. “Bizarre coincidence, though.”

Q was past the point of caring. His eyes had slid shut, and Bond was working magic from his shoulders, and he wasn’t going to disturb Bond for _anything_.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 00Q prompt for you! 1. Bond finds Q in the aftermath of a pretty massive emotional meltdown complete with the headache from hell, cue the hurt/comfort sweetness. - dwcourtesan

By the time Bond got home, Q was over the worst of it. The idiot was so accustomed to his occasional stress-induced emotional breakdowns that it hadn’t actually occurred to him to contact Bond for help, or support.

Instead, the panic had left him with a headache to blot all coherency, the young man trembling slightly on their sofa.

Bond went into the kitchen, found two paracetamol and filled a glass of water. “Drink all of it,” he ordered Q gently; Q was in such a state that he just did as he was told, apparently deciding not to mind that Bond was telling him what to do.

“Want to talk about it?” Bond asked gently; Q wordlessly shook his head. It didn’t matter. He could get past it now, he just needed to not think about it, and move on. Panic rarely had a focus, anyway; his mind just started screaming, crumbling in on itself, and Q just rode it out until he had calmed down and could think rationally again.

Bond could understand that, just about. He reached out, pulling Q into his arms, arranging the smaller man in a careful, bundled embrace. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing Q’s head gently, letting Q cocoon himself around Bond’s torso.

“Thank you,” Q whispered; Bond just smiled, running a soothing hand along Q’s head, over his back.

“Any time,” he replied, holding his lover close, letting an emotionally exhausted Q slip into sleep on his lap.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful writers! If you're not too busy, I have a stupid prompt in mind and I need fluff and mpreg!Q today because I think this is the most beautiful thing in the world. (Established relationship) Q lost his first baby after a really dramatic situation (explosion, torture, feel free to decide ;)) and after a few years, Bond and him have managed to get through this. But then, Q is pregnant again, and have to tell Bond (they leave MI6 maybe, away of any danger) Really caring!Bond please :) - enjoyinglifeinyourarms

Q looked at the results, breathing out a long exhale. Oh _jesus_.

Really, he hadn’t thought this would be possible again. After everything that happened, he had gone away with a quiet belief that his body would never quite recover – that this would never be possible again.

He would need to tell James. His James, who had helped a wrecked Q through the realisation that while a week in captivity had done nothing to his mind, it had quite impressively taken apart his body.

“James? Yes, yes, I’m fine… how’s the mission?… Yes, yeah, I’ll talk to you when you’re home. Nothing to worry about, just something that’s popped up… _no_ , James. When you’re home.”

Q hung up, put his head in his hands.

-

“So,” Bond asked, ever one to cut straight to the chase. “You want to talk about something?”

Q sighed slightly, trying to rally words together. Bond, sensing something relatively important, tensed; his hand moved unconsciously towards his gun. “James, I’m pregnant,” Q told him, eyebrows knotted together. “I don’t know how, but I’m pregnant.”

Bond was quiet for a moment, thinking carefully. “I thought, after…?”

“So did I,” Q interjected, before Bond started discussing it again; even years later, he still looked back and flinched. He tried not to think about it, if at all possible. “James… I want to keep it. If I can, if everything’s alright medically, I’d like to… I’d like to keep it.”

A heartbeat of hesitation.

Bond nodded, reaching for Q’s hand. “We’ll need to tell MI6,” he said firmly. “You can’t stay Quartermaster if you want to do this, not after last time.”

Q grimaced. He loved his job, he truly did; but this was his child. His and Bond’s. He didn’t want to lose it again, he didn’t want to lose another baby because of MI6. One day, maybe, he would be able to go back. Until then, he would speak to MI6, would make a distinguished exit from being Quartermaster, would work out how to keep his child safe.

“I love you,” Bond murmured, kissing him, his soft smirk developing into an outright grin. They were having a _baby_.

Q smiled back in kind. “I love you too.”


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your cat fics are fantastic. I'm in love with the abundance of cats in this fandom! If you have time, could you write one where the cat approves of Bond and they team up together to protect and look after Q? thank you!! meow :) - theyarecalledthestrals

Bond had spent the first few months carefully wary of R. The thing watched him suspiciously too; they were practically mirrors of one another for a while. Both became very possessive of Q, cursed at the other in their constituent languages, and resented the other for invading their personal space.

Yet as time wore on, and both decided the other was trustworthy – in that they cared for, and were looking after, Q – they formed an odd alliance.

R was definitely onside. Bond realised this when R started circling around his legs, mewing for food; she had a full bowl, and Bond spent several minutes trying to work out why in the _hell_ he couldn’t stop Q’s cat from yowling.

He found out shortly afterwards that Q hadn’t eaten all day, had completely forgotten about it. Bond looked at the cat, his eyes narrowing, as he found anything that he could force-feed Q in the kitchen.

The cat looked smug. Bond gave her a handful of cat treats.

This theme continued; Q stayed up too late, forgot to eat, worked too hard. R wound herself around Bond’s legs, mewled a few times, and Bond did the rest. He hauled Q to bed, plied him with food and tea, accidently-on-purpose blew a fuse so Q couldn’t work on his main computer.

Q installed backup generators. Bond had a sneaking suspicious that R may have been instrumental in said backup generators mysteriously failing.

“Yes, you’re lovely,” he told R with a thin smile; Q watched them both with undisguised suspicion.

“Traitor,” he muttered, to either one of them. It didn’t really matter which. Bond just smirked, sweeping Q in for a lingering kiss.

“You love us,” Bond told him; Q rolled his eyes. Really, he couldn’t possibly disagree.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Somehow, Q is given a glasgow smile. Bond reacts, and Q is teased and made fun of my some of his minions who think it looks ugly. H/c - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to google what a ‘glasgow smile’ is for clarity, ended up being very disturbed by what I read about history of it etc, my god, that was a harrowing afternoon. Anyway.
> 
> For those that don’t know - it is a intentional scarring, splitting the skin of the cheek into a scarred ‘smile’. Think “The Joker” in Batman. A great proportion of those who it is used on die of blood loss. Very frightening thing.

Q had been dreading returning to MI6.

Most victims of torture bore scars that could be hidden, in some way or another. Usually, there was something, some way of concealing what had happened that would allow them to move on with their lives. Interrupted, but not destroyed altogether.

Not so in Q’s case. His torturers had left him with a mark that could never fade; he would wear his scar indefinitely, a sign to everybody in the world that he had been a victim, and hadn’t found a way to stop it.

“I look…” Q tried, the words falling away from him pointlessly, hating himself for coming close to tears again as he tried to come to terms with his own reflection. Bond’s hands came to rest either side of him, a loose embrace; Q could escape if he wanted, but Bond needed Q to know he was there.

“Q, it’s nothing,” Bond said quietly. “It doesn’t change who you are, or the fact that you’re a superb Quartermaster. You’re alive, and you’re safe.”

Q nodded, his eyes horribly sad. Bond’s heart quietly broke as he watched Q cry in silence, and he was unable to do a damn thing about it. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Bond asked, checking because he had to; going into work was a big step after an ordeal like Q’s, especially given that he wasn’t handling matters very well.

“Yes. I’m fine,” Q lied, his voice sharp, forbidden any argument. Bond went with because he simply didn’t have anything constructive he could say; Q was a law unto himself at the best of times. Bond would just have to stay there, taking care of him, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

Naturally, the murmurs begin the moment anybody caught sight of Q. He had been young, attractive, a figurehead for MI6; not so any longer, the scars too-livid, an angry pink-red.

Q lasted less than half an hour. Bond had to give him credit; he had money on Q barely making ten minutes.

There was nothing he could say, far less do. He allowed Q to cry to himself, intervening when he was needed, Q finally losing pride in favour of seeking comfort anywhere he could find. Q cried himself dry against Bond’s shirt, and Bond just help him, wishing there was anything at all he could do.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure if you're taking prompts but it would be great to see a fic where Q is insecure about his body and gets a little moody after James gets with other people during missions but refuses to admit it, r rated (no sugary fluff) reassuring please?- anon

Q watched the footage with a stony expression, drinking tea with hands that didn’t shake in the slightest. He knew what Bond had to do, he knew that Bond was not somebody he could dream of keeping monogamous; active work often involved prostituting oneself for a mission, in a variety of literal senses.

Regardless, it was usually beautiful young woman. Emphasis on the ‘beautiful’. They were the perfectly structured, elegantly refined beauties that men and women alike would die to have or to be.

Q was nothing like that. He was too skinny and pale, almost bleached white at points. He was far from elegant, and knew his intelligence could be abrasive where these endless women never were.

“Are you alright?” Bond murmured, lips fluttering over Q’s pulse points, trying to inspire a reaction that was far from forthcoming. When Bond’s hand strayed over him, feeling along his stringy limbs and anorexic, sharp features, he cringed slightly.

Bond didn’t need Q to tell him. He could imagine what Q was thinking, wanted to help if he could.

He set about worshipping Q’s body. Every inch of him was caressed, stroked, kissed. Q burbled objections that fell on deaf ears, Bond gently pushing him back and continuing regardless of what Q tried to say.

“Bond, _Bond_ ,” Q finally managed, trying to scramble out of Bond’s way; Bond watched him expressionlessly, Q curling himself up as though he could disappear. “Stop it. Stop _pretending_.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bond asked, neutral, traces of anger. “No, you’re _not_ as ‘beautiful’ as those women, but those women aren’t here, are they? Q, I want _you,_ for god’s sake.”

“So why is that so hard to believe?” Q asked quietly, his eyes terrifyingly dead.

Bond couldn’t find anything to say, not any that Q would believe. He watched Q close into himself, refuse to respond, and wished there was something he could do. “Q, I can’t keep trying to prove this to you,” Bond said quietly.

“I know,” Q murmured back, eyes sliding closed. He let Bond’s arms loop around him, cradle him close, and tried to stop thinking.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do something where Bond, Camille (QoS), and Alec (006) team up for a mission for some reason and pull ridiculous stunts? And Q is their handler and is like "WTF why do none of you follow directions??" - anon

“Your shooting is off,” Alec pointed out; the pair of them were running flat-out, very aware of the people trying to kill them who were mere minutes away.

Both were in tailored suits; Alec’s was a deep black, Bond’s a light ash grey, both streaking through streets as fast as they were able. “You’re both absurd,” Camille intoned lightly in their ears. “Two, one…”

Bond, Alec – and Camille, who appeared through a doorway on their left – turned in unison and shot several rounds into the four men that were trying to shoot _them_.

“For _fuck’s sake_ , am I completely fucking inaudible or what?!” Q yelled at them, deafening all three of them very effectively.

“Yes Q?” Alec smirked, as the three agents vanished into another doorway, swallowed by somebody’s home. They ducked through the flat quite effectively, twisting around the occupants and coming out the other side.

“Three men are waiting on the other side of that building,” Q replied angrily, cursing in an impressive variety of languages, all of which Bond understood, six of which Alec understood, and five of which Camille understood.

Multilinguists made conversations _absurd_ from time to time. They dived back the way they came.

“Gehen sie nach links,” Alec told Bond, in fluent German; they veered left, an irate Camille on their tails.

“ _Ffordd arall_ ,” Q yelled at them; Bond – the only person who knew Welsh in the slightest – caught them mid-motion and shepherded them back in the opposite direction, according to Q’s instructions.

“You _fucks_ , can’t you stick to normal fucking languages?!” Camille managed, as the three of them managed an almost-unison dive over the fence to a nearby back garden.

“If you won’t listen to me in English, I’m hoping somebody will listen to me in other languages,” Q told her primly. “Bond, I’m going to kill you.”

“Pourquoi?”

“This is your fault,” Q replied.

“You’re in trouble,” Alec commented with a wry smirk; the three stopped together, catching breath, at a decent distance from any trouble. Camille, wearing a trouser suit with enough guns strapped to her to frighten most sane humans, stayed on guard, while Bond hit Alec round the back of the head.

“Vaffanculo,” he muttered to himself, and tried to ignore the snort of rather malicious laughter in his ear, from his rather irate boyfriend.

“Yes, Bond,” Q snorted. “And fuck you too.”


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a prompt that James finds an orphaned child age about 5 and brings him home to his and Q's flat. not that they want children but since MI6 thinks orphans make the best agents they could raise him at MI6 and at their home. make it how ya like - anon

Q walked out of his bathroom, dressed in a towel, to find a five year old on his sofa, looking up at him through enormously wide eyes.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he yelped, diving back into the bathroom as James Bond sauntered out the bedroom. “Jesus, Bond, _jesus_ , what the hell is that child doing on my sofa?!”

“Don’t swear. His name’s David, an MI6 pick-up,” Bond explained; Q, clutching the towel around his waist, gestured speechlessly at the child in a completely harassed, terrified way.

“Why is he _here_?!”

Bond plied the child with cookies; the child managed to devour four of them in the space of the next sign-language conversation, Q letting out a little wail as he retreated back into the bathroom, pulling on clothes out of the washing basket and trying to rearrange himself.

He toppled out of the bathroom to find Bond crouching in front of the child, surprisingly adept at handling said child. Q watched it with unguarded suspicion.

“And this is Q,” Bond said smoothly, indicating to Q. David glanced up, smiled; Q looked at the child, a tiny, damaged thing. If he had been found by MI6, he was orphaned, probably recently.

“Your boyfriend?” the boy asked, looking Q up and down. Q looked to Bond. Looked back. Nodded.

The child smiled. “Hi,” he said brightly, extending a bizarrely formal hand towards Q.

Q took the minute hand, shook it awkwardly. Bond smirked at them both. Q reminded himself that he could survive practically anything, including bombings, and other ridiculous things. This was nothing. This… small child, sitting on his sofa with Bond behind, looking perversely parental. This was nothing.

Alright then.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you could write a 00Q book store au it would make my day - anon

Every single day, at five past one, the long-limbed, skinny boy entered the bookshop. He always walked with purpose; he would have a cursory look at the current recommendations and chart favourites, before browsing for about five minutes. He would select a book – usually off the same display table – bundle his endless limbs into the cramped space of a tiny armchair, and read.

James watched him, always interested. He never bought anything. He left after exactly forty-five minutes.

There were no issues with reading, and not buying, books. They had the armchairs for a reason, after all. James’s boss was less than happy given dwindling sales, but James just didn’t see a problem.

He started glancing at the books the boy was reading. It ranged from the classic to the modern, an eclectic little collection of stories and words.

James found himself re-arranging the display table. He left some of his favourite books in prime position: _Watership Down_ , a throwback from childhood. _Les Miserables_ , the uncut original. _The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes_ , because James honestly believed everybody should read them. _Cloud Atlas_ , one of James’s personal favourites.

After Q left that lunchtime, he had a glance at the books. Q had gone for _Cloud Atlas_. Each of the other books had a post-it on it, saying “ _Read it. Q_.”

On _Cloud Atlas_ – “ _Thank you. Very good. Q_.”

James smiled. How ‘Q’ had known it had been done for  _him_ was a mystery, but that didn’t matter much.

James.rearranged the display desk again the next morning.

-

Five days later, James found a copy of _Captain Corelli’s Mandolin_. He read it in his own lunch break, and the next few days after.

_Well written, not my scene. JB_

After lunch, a Marvel comic, and a book on tactical war strategy:

_Better? Q_

-

“So, JB,” the boy smiled, placing a book on the counter; James could not help the smirk he sent back in return. “What do you think of this one?”

James looked down at the book in his hands. The Gay Man’s Kama Sutra.

He restrained himself from laughter with severe difficulty. That was one way of being forward, certainly. “Thorough. Needs practical application.”

Q’s smile was delicious. “I finish at six. Coffee?”

“My pleasure,” Bond smirked. “Oh. And that’s nine fifty, for the book.”

Q’s expression remained fixed on his as he slid over the money, watching Bond’s face as he counted out change. Bond pressed the money and receipt into his palm, and Q’s breath caught, almost imperceptibly, as their skin brushed. “Thank you,” Q murmured. “Six?”

“Six,” Bond nodded, watching Q stash the book in his bag and leave, counting down the minutes until six o’clock.


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's an insane idea but I really love to see Mikael Blomkvist( Girl w/t dragon tattoo) is James' twin brother A hippy journalist who wears jumper and glasses, interesting in techno and also a hacker He is just like James beside he is more a social person James doesn't hate his brother until he seems to get along with Q more than him Bonus if the scene is in MI6 and no one except M knows about it Thx Always love your writing btw sorry for my bad english XD - anon

“And you must be Mikael,” Q said with a smile, extending a hand towards the man who was _literal_ carbon copy of Bond. It would have been actively frightening, had it not been for the dramatically different dress sense; Mikael opted for far more casual wear as compared to Bond’s trim suits, the hair was different, the way he held himself similarly.

“Good to meet you,” Mikael said in a slightly more gravelled tone than Bond’s; his handshake was similar though, confident and firm.

Q glanced between them both, unable to quite believe the similarities. “Sorry to ask, but you have different fathers?” Q asked, for confirmation more than anything else; the two could be identical. Yet he knew from the records that Mikael had been raised separately from Bond, the pair only meeting into adolescence.

Mikael smirked, nodded. Bond’s face remained impassive. “So, you’re Quartermaster?” he asked, with glances around the profusion of technology scattered about Q’s office. “Looks like one hell of a job.”

“You have no conception,” Q replied; Mikael smiled charmingly, and Q found himself rather… flattered. Within a few minutes, they had reached a common ground – computers. More specifically, hacking.

“I know a girl who can hack into anything,” Mikael said, more to himself than anybody else.

“Yes. I knew Wasp, once,” Q told him; Mikael had turned slightly white at the mention of her, coaxing Q into smiling again, sympathetic. They had never quite reclaimed their relationship, at the end of it; they had remained close, but never quite managed to rekindle what they nearly had.

“Her name’s Lisbeth.”

“Yes, I know,” Q replied quietly; he abruptly brightened, swinging the screen around to Mikael. “Have a look; these codes here are…”

Bond tuned out, as he often did when Q got technical. This would have been perfectly fine, had Q not laughed. Not his rather condescending laugh, or his socially appropriate laugh. No. He came out with the laugh he only ever used with Bond, the laugh reserved for him.

He hadn’t heard the comment. Regardless, his hand twitched towards his pocket. “James, don’t be absurd,” Q said, without turning to look at him. “He’s funny, yes. But I’m dating you.”

Bond’s hand relaxed, Mikael snorted. This was Bond’s bloody fault for introducing the pair. He’d have to deal with it however he could now.

And if that meant Mikael never came back to MI6, well. Life would carry on.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I just wanted to let you know that I love your writing, can't help smiling whenever I'm going through the 00q tag and your url comes up! So when a plotbunny came my way I immediately thought of you. Hope you'll like it. Q is approaching 60, Bond and him were a couple for many years and it's been about 3 years since James passed away. Q can't seem to form new emotional conections, until he gets assigned to babysit a young, rebellious, witty field agent. Non-romantic bonding follows.- junetangerine

Q was surprised to find that his life did move on. Quite honestly, he hadn’t expected it to. For a number of weeks, months afterwards, he hadn’t wanted it to.

He lived out each day and each night, sleeping to memories of gunpower and water, electricity and blood. It sounds morbid to express, beautiful to live with, and James had been so many beautiful things.

Not a day passed without Q missing him. It stopped stabbing after a little while, became a dull and unavoidable ache that tortured him whenever he smiled with somebody else. He was still Quartermaster, and an excellent one; yet he had reverted to the person he’d been before Bond. Quiet, defensive, socially reticent.

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” the kid on the comms whines at him, somewhat self-contradictory.

Q sighs; Fleming is relatively new to the active agent scene, and is a pain in the arse to boot. He hasn’t managed to follow a single instruction from any of his previous handlers; Q noted with amusement that his missions had all ended successfully, with minimal losses. The exception was his previous mission, which had resulted in a fair few civilian casualties.

“Door open in ten seconds or less,” Q told him, ignoring the irate mumblings. “Fleming, you are not moving.”

“It won’t open,” the agent snaps back.

“Of course it will. Try harder.”

“You try, old man,” the agent grumbles, and Q’s world incrementally falls in on itself; the tone belongs to James. He cannot speak for a long moment. “You still there?” the agent grunts, making no note of satisfaction when he falls through the door. “That was bloody close.”

“I did tell you ten seconds or less,” Q replies easily; he watches CCTV, the thought of James still lingering. The dry sarcasm and cynical appraisal, the insults, the complete lack of deference to any superior figure. “No swearing, by the way, it’s uncouth in an active agent.”

“You swear, everybody knows that,” the boy retorts.

Q laughs, and oddly, doesn’t feel the usual compression in his chest. “Yes, but I’m not an active agent. Keep up the attitude, and I’ll send you into the field with a gun that shoots nothing but pink glitter.”

“Helpful.”

“I felt so,” Q smiled. The ache was oddly quiet for once; it made sense, almost. It was nice, talking to Fleming. He made Q feel like he was engaged for once, rather than going through the motions. “Second door on the right, registering four hostiles.”

“Yes Q, I know, I can fucking hear them,” the boy snapped back, and Q can _hear_ the arrogant git rolling his eyes.

“Don’t swear,” Q reminded him, and smirked.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, just want to say, you're just lovely and I stalk tumblr all day waiting for your prompt fills. Also, because awkward situations intrigue me, can we have Bond go undercover as a hacker, Q guiding him in his ear, and the Bond runs into Q's hacker ex? (maybe even has to seduce him and isn't that just a strange situation? ;] ) Thank you!! * showers you with flower petals because you are awesometastic * - blueskycloud9

“Oh my _god_ ,” Q breathes in his ear. Bond stops precisely where he is. Something is wrong. Something is _exceptionally_ wrong, for Q to be speaking in that tone of voice. “That’s _Mark_.”

He can only be talking about their elusive target; the man has been hiding solely in cyberspace for years, is now an active threat to MI6 due to his motions around the fringes of the core databases. Q lured him in through a neat coding honeytrap, and sent Bond to investigate.

Mark. Bond’s heart went into his mouth.

The pair of them had discussed dating history. Bond’s was extensive and didn’t really count as ‘dating’, and Q’s had involved only one serious event. Mark, his university flatmate, and the first love of Q’s thus-far short life. Mark, who was currently sat where he was expecting his target, typing frenetically into a laptop that’s half-familiar.

Bond is supposed to be getting information out of this kid. He says ‘kid’ advisedly; he’s Q’s age at a stretch. “At least we know how to conduct this now,” Q exhales, sounding stunned. “Bond, you’ll need to flirt.”

Bond has a million things to say to that, not _least_ that he has no interest in _seducing Q’s ex-boyfriend_ who _just coincidentally_ , constituted one of the larger threats to MI6 secure databases since Q’s appointment as Quartermaster.

“Hey,” Bond said lightly, sliding into the booth with a coffee in hand.

Bond couldn’t see a single damn thing Q could have ever found attractive about the kid. He had electric ginger hair, wide brown eyes, and a lethal spark that showed when he grinned, all teeth. “He should have dyed the hair,” Q mused aloud in his ear; Bond could have throttled him.

“Hello there,” the young man replied, cocky, already flirting ostentatiously. The relationship couldn’t have lasted, this thing and Q were too similarly arrogant.

“Bond, stop drifting, and seduce him,” Bond’s boyfriend tells him sharply, and Bond briefly wonders what in the hell happened to his life. “Try talking about music. The Rat Pack will do.”

Of course, Q chooses an easy subject to slide into general conversation. “What’s your name?” Bond asks, flirtatious smile on maximum watt.

“John,” the man replies. _Liar_ , Q says in his ear.

“Can I buy you a drink?” says Bond. Mark/John smiles, clearly flattered, and nods.

“You truly are excellent at that”, Q muses in his ear. “Really, James. I’m impressed.”

Bond comes back with an iced tea for Mark/John – on Q’s advice – and sets about flirting with his boyfriend’s ex, while the boyfriend in question dropped rather large hints. It was the easiest seduction Bond had ever accomplished.

He was going to _kill_ Q later.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Could you please write something about how Bond TRIES to get into Q's flat but finds that Q has a shitload of booby-traps and death-rays and Bond ends up stuck, possibly in an awkward position. But Bond claims he was 'testing the security'??? Thank you! ((LOVE your fics btw)) - anon

“Are you completely insane?!”

“Says the man whose security measures involve _literally_ dangling somebody upside-down by the ankles!”

Q raised an eyebrow at Bond. The instinctive rush of livid adrenaline had faded out a little, replaced by hilarity; James Bond was dangling from his ceiling, thrashing like a fish, his face ridiculously red.

He burst out laughing.

“You bloody _idiot_ , Bond. Do you really not think I have decent security measures? If you’d been a stage or two more adept, you would have probably been decapitated by now.”

Q sidestepped the tripwire, dived beneath something Bond couldn’t even see, disabled the thin razor wires Bond had somehow managed to activate, tapped on the aerosol canister that Bond had only narrowly avoided, noting that it was empty with a roll of his eyes.

“You are bloody lucky to not be dead,” Q grumbled. “As it is, if you’d managed to get out of this, you would have had to content with a semi-automatic. Even your resurrection skills would have struggled.”

Bond had been through this corridor several dozen times. He could safely say he had no _idea_ that there was this much crap waiting for him, if he tried to break in. He’d add this to the list of Remarkably Stupid Ideas he’d had recently; Q was the bloody Quartermaster of MI6, for god’s sake. Bond should have seen this coming.

“Let me down?”

“Beg me.”

Bond growled. “Please?!”

He collapsed to the floor in an inelegant heap. Q raised at eyebrow at him. “Try not to underestimate me again,” he said lightly, and waited for Bond to follow him into the living room.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of an older brother how bout an older sister who is tech savvy like Q but use it differently (DJ, "small" business owner ect.). Bond sees them being geeks together and thinks the worst but Q freaks out like most siblings do when accidentally paired with a sibling - crazythenewnormal

Bond watched through the window.

Yes, it was childish. Yes, it was not appropriate behaviour. Yes, he trusted Q.

He was also very bored, and very paranoid, and Q was having quite a lot of fun with a woman slightly older than him, who was showing him something on a laptop, making him laugh without trying, clearly very good with computers.

Bond felt stabbing jealousy, and concern. Q hadn’t told Bond he was meeting anybody. Suspicion, paranoia, made his brain blur.

Q walked through the door later that day, still half-smiling, at jokes Bond hadn’t heard. “Who is she?” he asked gruffly, eyes dark, jaw set in a tight line. Q hung up his coat, sighed.

“James, did you follow me?” he asked wearily.

“If you plan to cheat on me, you could at least…”

“Sorry, what?” Q interrupted, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “Did you just…? No. _No_ , James. Oh my god. You think I’m cheating on you?!”

“She’s your type!” Bond retorted angrily. “Blonde, beautiful, clearly good at computers…”

“Bond, she’s my _sister_ ,” Q said in absolute horror, face twisting. “My big sister. I’m not having an affair, jesus _christ_ no. Oh _god_.”

Bond froze. “Sister?”

“That is… oh, and of bloody course, you think she’s ‘beautiful’… oh god, this is…”

“Q, I’m sorry,” Bond said quickly, moving to Q’s side, wrapping him in a tight embrace. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You thought I was cheating on you with my _sister…_ ” Q grumbled, sinking in Bond’s arms regardless. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.”


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you haven't already, I was wondering if you could do a 00Q fic that explores Q's fear of flying? I don't really care how, he could be forced on a plane (helicopter, hot air balloon, whatever) or it could just come up in conversation somehow. Thanks! :) - redhottitaniumbaby

Q was staring directly forward, his gaze absolutely unwavering, body trembling despite his most fervent efforts. He hated planes. He really fucking hated planes. He really, _really_ hated Bond for getting him onto a plane. Especially a private plane that had apparently been hijacked, for the specific purposes of getting to Bond.

Q was therefore _on a goddamn plane_ , with a psycho holding a knife to his throat. To be quite honest, he’d never been so frightened in his entire life. He was a single engine whine away from a full-scale panic attack.

“Would you put away the knife?” Bond asked with unusual politeness, smiling, showing teeth. Q watched him, literally feeling himself start to hyperventilate. Fucking brilliant. He was going to have a panic attack in front of armed psychos.

“Why?” the aggressor asked, his tone flatly confrontational.

Bond sighed. “If the plane hits turbulence, you run the risk of accidently killing him,” he explained simply. “Which really, would defeat the purpose.”

“Superb, Bond, thank you for the comfort,” Q wheezed; he felt his vision start to blacken around the corners. Oh, thank _god_. Unconsciousness beckoned. Q was past the point of being concerned about the potential repercussions of that.

The plane jolted, as the knife moved away from Q’s throat.

Q wasn’t conscious long enough to see it; he finally succumbed to hyperventilation and passed out, collapsing in a heap at the feet of his rather confused captors.

The confusion was ample for Bond to take out the hostiles, put the plane on autopilot, get Q into the recovery position, and stack the three corpses in a disconcertingly neat pile near the back of the plane.

“Oh jesus, we haven’t landed?” Q whimpered, as he woke up; Bond stroked a hand through the younger man’s hair, trying to comfort him somehow. “James, I hate flying. I really, _really_ hate it.”

“I know,” Bond told him gently, scooping the younger man in a tight embrace, letting Q pretend he wasn’t crying without any comment whatsoever. “I’m so sorry. I will not allow this to happen again.”

Q nodded, sniffled slightly against his chest. “I’m telling you now, I’m not doing this again,” he said flatly. “You’ll have to find some other way of getting me back, I can’t do this again…”

“Shh,” Bond soothed, kissing the top of Q’s head lightly. “We’ll work it out.”


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please write a 00q fic where either Q or 007 is depressed, suicidal, and about to kill himself. Just as they are about to pull the trigger to end it all, the other one arrives and stops them. I have so many 00Q feels right now - so make the fic really feelsy and involve a lot of comforting. If they could hug in the end I would love it SO MUCH. :) - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for suicidal behaviours.

There was too much loss. He had lived a life with too much, just too much to keep living through and dealing with. Everything had reached breaking point.

He stared at his gun without sadness, without apathy. He felt nothing. He didn’t have the necessary impetus to feel anything at all. His body had been hollowed out, had been continuing to drain, unnoticed, for years. Sliding inexorably away from him, a machine surviving by rote, programmed to live through each passing day as much as he was able.

It would be quick, and almost impossible to cock up. He would regret hurting Q like this, if he had the energy to. Q would not understand, of course he wouldn’t – but sometimes, one thing isn’t quite enough. One uncertain, intangible thing – no matter how brilliant – isn’t always enough to keep you tethered.

He had felt the hollowness expand until it became all he had left. He was superb at his job, he could function perfectly. That had never been an issue. But something was already dead; he was just finishing the job.

“James,” a voice said, very gently. “James, can you hear me? James, it’s Q. I need you to look at me.”

Bond did as he was told, slowly, as though time had stilled to nothing around him. Q was crouched a few feet away, keeping himself near ground level, careful and calm. “James. Can you give me your gun, please?”

Bond’s fingers felt iced against the gun handle, unable to prise them off, relent and show weakness this bloody _close_ to the end. His tears were entirely emotionless, tracking slim paths down his cheeks without conscious intent.

His fingers softened. Q watched, waited, keeping eye contact with Bond, asking him repeatedly in that same soft, calm voice to keep looking at him, stay with him. “You’re okay, James,” Q murmured, reaching a hand out. “Please.”

Bond moved with glacial slowness. Finally, the gun was in Q’s hand. He snapped it open, tapping the rounds into his palm, chucking the constituent parts around the room. Bond just watched with empty eyes.

“James,” Q said, more urgently. “James, we need to get you help. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I can’t do this on my own, and I’m _scared,_ James.”

Q, with the immediate threat to James’s life out of the way, was inches from hyperventilation, beginning to quickly fall into tears, wiping his eyes angrily with his sleeves.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. “I can’t help, and it’s _killing_ me. I just… I don’t want to come back and find you… I mean, today, I just…James? _James_ , talk to me. _Please_.”

Bond’s eyes languidly met his. Somewhere at the back of him, the parts of himself were scrambling to realign, to plaster over the mask that he usually used, remembering how to pretend, and he didn’t _want to_.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice not feeling even slightly like his own.

“No,” Q said quietly, sadly, reaching out to Bond, curling arms around him, his heart breaking. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t you be sorry. We need to do something, James, and we will. I promise, we will.”


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Could I prompt a fic where Bond tries to teach Q self-defense in case of an emergency and Q is uncooperative? As fluffy as possible, please~ - anon

“Bond, this is ridiculous.”

“You should be able to defend yourself again something other than an angry kitten,” Bond quipped drily. He had been rather shocked to discover that Q didn’t have even the _vaguest_ knowledge of self-defence. Most people were taught, absorbed information, had some _instinct_ at least.

Q’s instincts, in his own words: “I verbally decimate or outsmart, then run the opposite direction.”

Q was thin enough to snap in half, and just not that fast. Very few assailants Bond had ever met were amiable enough to hang around for ‘verbal decimation’ when they could simply knock the other person out, or kill them.

Really, Q’s ‘instincts’ were useless.

“I hate you,” Q whined.

“Try to punch me,” Bond said firmly, reaching out, adjusting Q’s position; the man was malleable in an inhuman way, intentionally acting like a rag doll to cause annoyance. “Go on, Q.”

“If I hit you, can I go?!”

“If can you hit me, I’ll buy you dinner,” Bond promised, in a voice laden with sarcasm. Q raised an eyebrow, a thin smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. Alright. This could be interesting.

Q started throwing punches. Bond called out adjustments, while managing to neatly avoid every single bloody one of Q’s movements. Bond didn’t attack himself, entirely focused on the defensive motions to study Q.

He watched as the younger man went over on his ankle on a rather enthusiastic punch, and gave a sudden wail of pain.

Bond was there in a second. “Are you alright?” he asked urgently, hands on Q, trying to help him up as the younger man hissed, placing pressure on the ankle.

Q punched him in the stomach.

“Ha,” he said happily, straightening up with no issues to his ankle whatsoever. Bond stared at him, unable to believe he’d been taken out by such a bloody obvious piece of trickery.

“Verbally decimate or outsmart,” Q purred, looking immensely pleased with himself. “You owe me dinner.”


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a really stupid 00q prompt, but I hope it will be adequate enough for you; Q tries to get 007 to go to the circus with him on a date. 007 agrees, but is secretly afraid of clowns, so he gets scared while they're at the circus and Q comforts him. Thanks <3 I really love your writing, by the way. - johnlock-in-tardis-at-221B

“Come on, you never see actually circuses these days,” Q coaxed. “It’ll be fun. Really, James. It’s very nostalgic for me too, my mum used to love this kind of thing…”

It was that argument that got Bond to agree, above anything else. Q’s arguments meant little to nothing on a usual basis, until he threw in familial arguments, or alternatively just fixed his saddest eyes and stared at Bond until he agreed.

Bond lasted only a handful of minutes with the artificially large, painted smiles before he started to sweat.

Q looked excitable, happy, and Bond didn’t want to ruin that – but the clowns were everywhere, closing in around him, making his head hurt. He was beginning to shake slightly. The place was too hot, and too claustrophobic, and the clowns frightened him on a very childish and immediate level that made him feel very sick, very suddenly.

He stood, walked quickly out of the tent as fast he could physically manage. He took a moment, leaning on his thighs, breathing through his mouth. “James, are you alright?”

“Go back in,” Bond said levelly, trying to calm. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

Bond straightened, turned to Q, fixing an expression on his face that he hoped was just about passable. “I hate clowns,” he said simply, praying that Q wouldn’t laugh outright. “I really, _really_ hate clowns.”

Q rolled his eyes. “You should have said something.”

“You wanted to go!”

“James, I _want_ a lot of things,” Q told him, with audible exasperation. “It doesn’t _matter_ , it’s a bloody circus, in the most literal of senses. You’re unhappy. I certainly don’t want that.”

Bond still felt slightly shivery, as Q hugged him, whacked him playfully around the back of the head. “You absolute idiot,” he said fondly, and kissed Bond gently.


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Hi! I looove your prompts and the way you fill them! I'm hoping this one will catch you eye! I would love to see something where James asks just where all of Q's cardigans come from and he finding out that Q secretly knits! Maybe he knits something for James or James catches him trying on his newly finished items! Maybe the hand-made lovin' gets James all domestic-possesive? Sorry it's such a long prompt! Thanks! - inky-brown-eyes

Bond discovered that Q knitted entirely by accident. It had been right at the top of the list of ‘things he hadn’t seen coming’, and for a few moments after opening the door to Q’s office on a quiet Thursday afternoon in May, he really didn’t know what to think.

“That’s…” he managed stupidly, staring.

Q sighed elaborately. Well. That was one secret dead in the water. “Hello, James. Thank you for remembering to knock. Welcome to my office. I knit.”

“You _knit_.”

“Well parroted,” Q commented drily. “Yes, James. I knit. Fabrics are something of a speciality. Problem?”

Bond gaped slightly, recovered his composure incrementally. “I… well,” he managed. “I didn’t expect that. I suppose that explains where the cardigans keep coming from.”

Q smiled unevenly. “Precisely. Now, how can I help?”

“Dinner?” Bond suggested; Q smiled, the knitting needles hidden under his desk. He nodded. Of course, dinner. It was Thursday night, they always went to dinner Thursday night. “They’re good, by the way. Really.”

“Thank you,” Q said, with a slightly shy nod, opening a desk drawer and hiding all evidence from sight once and for all.

-

Their anniversary, later that year. Q doesn’t have anything wrapped; instead, he nervously indicates towards the bedroom, inches away from chewing his nails like a nervous kid.

Bond takes a moment to examine the quilt. A patchwork of colours, of shapes. Of ideas and moments. Of countries Bond has seen, fabric prints branded with a posh tea, velvet and linen, silk. Each can be linked to them both, to fractured moments of their relative lives together and apart, and it is _perfect_.

Bond kisses him, expressing through gesture far more than he’s capable of doing through words.

“It’s beautiful. You’re wasted on cardigans.”

Q laughs lightly, body pressed against Bond. Smiles.


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it interests you, could you please write something with 00q and tattoos? - anon

Q never chose favourites, as far as his tattoos went. He loved them all depending on mood, but at no stage had regretted getting them.

He kept his wrists and hands strictly clear. He was a professional; it would not do to have people doubting him by virtue of body art. Bond had no idea Q had any at all, until the moment Q guided him through his history by aid of art.

His left ankle held a treble clef; a memory of the life he could have had, if he had chosen music over computers. His inner right forearm – hidden by sleeves in work – held an elaborate time-turner. He had loved books, once, and cherished the idea that time can be moved and manipulated. His own nod to childhood.

Across his upper back sprawled an iris, the stem dancing along his spine, the flower bursting between his shoulder blades. This was his most complex; it was easy to be mocked for a flower. Q’s mother had been an artist, once. After she died, Q found her most beautiful work, found a good artist.

He remembered her how he could. His mind could never focus on her memory forever, so he let his body remember instead. Absurdly sentimental.

Bond’s fingers traced it reverentially, tracking along the arm past the time turner – a reference Bond wouldn’t even pretend to understand – and glancing down to the musical note. Simple, discreet, and beautiful. Quite like Q.

“I hope you don’t… dislike them,” Q mumbled slightly; Bond smiled sideways, pressing a kiss to the time turner and inspiring a bright smile from Q.

“They’re beautiful,” Bond said truthfully. “If they were horrible, gaudy things…”

“You think I’d inject permanent ink into my body without being _absolutely certain_ they weren’t ‘gaudy…”

“You know what I mean,” Bond said over him, placating. Q watched Bond carefully, trying to sense dislike, finding none. “Stop worrying about what I think!”

“No,” Q said simply, and kissed him.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. :) Could you please write something about how Bond and Q can never remember the Interns names so they give them numbers? Like one intern has the number 13 because he/she is superstitious and one has the number 69 for obvious reasons. Thanks :) you guys are great - shertealocked

“I think I’m a few badly-placed comments away from a sexual harassment charge,” Bond told him without much repentance, settling in the chair opposite Q. Q was typing into the computer, forehead knotting slightly.

“Why this time?” Q asked absent-mindedly.

“I called 69 ‘69’ to her face,” Bond mused aloud.

Q sighed, minimised a few screens, turned to face Bond. “We need to find her a new name,” he said firmly. “This is getting silly now.”

“If the boot fits…”

“That’s not the point!” Q said exasperatedly. “So come on, we need something.”

“What’s her actual name?” Bond asked, trying to filter through the various names and files and faces in his head. Bond knew her entire life story; her name was really superfluous by that point. The ‘69’ was very well-earned. There was video footage to prove it, despite 69’s best efforts to the contrary.

Q was typing, bringing up her file based on the CCTV he was pulling from her at her desk. “… Beth. Wow. How anticlimactic.”

“Not from his perspective,” Bond pointed out drily, as 8 – a young Chinese man, the first person Q had directly hired for his branch – knocked on the door. His eyes widened with mild fear at the sight of Bond. He had that effect on the Q-branch kids.

“Jess has had some problems with the coding on the Aquiana project,” he said apologetically; Q typed again, bringing up ‘Jess’. “We seem to have an external hack, nothing she could have done…”

 _Thirteen_ , he mouthed to Bond, who snorted; the girl was the most unlucky human being in the entirety of human history.

“Alright, I’ll deal with it,” Q smirked, shooting a quick, superior glance towards. “Bond, to avoid sexual harassment charges and consequent paperwork, apologise to Jess.”

“Beth.”

“ _Beth_ , bollocks,” Q swore, rolling his eyes at himself, and walking out into Q-branch. She would always be 69 in his head, if he was completely honest.

Damn it.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond/Q prompt: Bond and Q get a dog that Bond secretly trains to look after and protect Q in his absence. Q's oblivious until the dog almost takes the hand off of a 00 who's been getting far to friendly with Q. - anon

The dog was irritating. If Q hadn’t sworn blind to Bond that he would look after the damn thing, he would have shot it days ago.

It kept barking at random intervals – particularly around 009 – nudging Q insistently at inopportune moments, knocking things over and distracting Q for no good reason. Altogether, an absolute nightmare.

True, it had coincidentally managed to keep him sticking to a semi-regular food schedule. And sleep schedule. And generally keeping him sane in Bond’s absence.

009 leant against the desk, smiling in a darkly flirtatious manner, hand sliding along the edge of the desk towards him. Q glanced up, deeply unimpressed. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be so sharp, Q,” 009 purred, hand shifting closer, covering Q’s arm. “I’m just being friendly.”

“I…”

Q had no way of finishing the sentence. The dog – with the wrath of God – leapt at 009, barking frantically, managing to get his jaws around 009’s hand. 009 swore vociferously, trying to shake it off, only to have it latch tighter.

“I think this would be your cue to leave,” Q suggested, snorting slightly as the upstart agent wailed in pain, clasping his hand to his chest, scurrying out as fast as he could manage.

Q called Bond. “You did this.”

“Did what?”

“Trained the dog. It just tried to kill 009,” Q said flippantly; Bond’s low rumble was comforting and ridiculous, and also a confirmation. The nudges and barking, it had all been for him, all to look after _him_ while James was away. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“So you keep telling me.”

Q smiled despite himself. He wanted to be annoyed at Bond training a _dog_ to be a caretaker, but really, it was one of the genuinely more endearing things Bond had come up with, and hadn’t ended up with people getting hurt. Except 009, but truly, he deserved it.

“Be safe,” he said flippantly, trying not to let concern show through.

“Aren’t I always?”

Q laughed. “Not in the slightest. And apparently, I’m now safe from all harm too. Thank you, James.”

“My pleasure,” Bond replied with a touch of smug satisfaction, and hung up.


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Not sure if you have done this already, but if not, please can you write one about Bond and Q relationship from a third person POV , preferably be Eve, Tanner or M. Tthanks!!<3 - iriswhisper

M tended to avoid office politics, if he could humanly avoid it. It tended to end with various members of his teams throwing perverse and varied insults at one another, and the relevant partner/colleague/ex involved.

He really couldn’t fail to notice the blossoming romance between the Quartermaster, and a double-oh agent. Really, he felt as though he should be doing something to intervene. He hadn’t the faintest idea what that would entail, but he harboured a generalised thought that he probably should.

“Are you and 007 in a relationship?” he asked directly; Q, a ridiculously young man with an arrogant smile and the ability to shut down most of the internet in half an hour or less, smiled dangerously.

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, looking far from repentant. “We’re being safe, never fear.”

M rolled his eyes. “You are aware of how unorthodox this is?”

“007 threw out any rulebooks on ‘orthodox’ years ago. I was never given the books to start off with,” Q said succinctly. “I assure you, we are being wholly professional.”

Give the state of Q’s hair, and the rumours Eve insisted on bringing him from Q-branch, he found that somewhat difficult to believe. Nevertheless, he had reviewed Q-branch output; it was actually _better_ than in previous weeks, amusingly. 007, in the meantime, had refrained from doing anything so unorthodox it risked life or limb.

Begrudgingly, he was forced to concede that the impromptu relationship may well have been rather a _good_ thing.

Later: “For your sake, Bond, don’t upset him. I’ve seen the work he can do,” M told Bond, with every degree of seriously. Bond nodded soberly. Q was a very easy person to underestimate, and possibly the most lethal person in the world to do so around. “I could do with both of you remaining intact.”

“Understood,” Bond said, slightly formally. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Concern for MI6 as an organisation, not you specifically,” M corrected him drily, and sent him on his way. He wasn’t that surprised when Bond made his way directly to Q-branch.

Really, all he could do was sit back, and hope they kept each other reigned in enough to not do something ridiculous like take over the world.


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, if you feel up to it, can you write a fic in which Bond and another 00-agent has a relationship (apparently not serious), and when he/she (your choice) gets wind of 00Q relationship, he/she set out to destroy/test (again your choice) the relationship, since that person has been hoping to develop sth with bond. A thousand cookies for you to write this! - anon

002 was greatly enjoying her little moment in the sun, with the glorious 007. It was an enviable position; she hung on the arm of the most respected agent in MI6, who may have been a total bastard for a great proportion of the time, but was almost one of the most gorgeous and sexually talented people 002 had ever come across.

She knew Bond was not the most faithful. She also knew he was not necessarily straight, one hundred percent of the time. She certainly didn’t expect the entirety of MI6 to start buzzing about her partner, and their Quartermaster.

True, the kid was good-looking. True, he was ferociously, mercilessly intelligent. True, he was many brilliant things, but he was _not_ supposed to be Bond’s.

002 was quietly seething. Bond found his gun – his favourite gun, the one Q had coded especially for him with an assurance of lost testicles should any happen to it – completely absent.

It may or may not have ended up in the Thames during one of 002’s rare but quite enjoyable fits of pique.

Q’s reaction had been like watching a kitten roar.

Bond finished the meeting embodying the sentiment of ‘tail between legs’, and scurried – quite un-Bond like – off into the distance.

002 knew their relationship was over when Bond blew off a date to start trawling through the Thames on a hijacked boat, trying to find the gun. Q’s trackers had gotten it to within a four-mile stretch.

So Bond was on a boat, and 002 was wondering why she was still bothering. “James, sweetheart?” she said dispassionately down the phone, waiting for his response. “I think we know this is over.”

“You think?” Bond grumbled back. “Sorry El, you know how it is.”

“Yes,” she sighed. Well. The best-laid plans and all that. She’d managed to massacre her relationship with Bond, rather than wreck his and the Quartermaster’s. It was a pity; she had liked Bond a great deal, ultimately. Despite his obvious stupidity and emotional failings. She vaguely harboured a hope that Bond would actually bite the bullet, and _ask_ Q out on a date.

The thought made her feel rather cross. She went out for a drink to avoid a fit of pique in her own flat. She hated trashing her own things.

-

To add insult to injury, Bond found the bloody gun.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering... I can see that you have a talent with angst. But I was wondering if you could do something along the lines of James comes home to a guilty looking Q. After being pressed and interrogated, Q reveals the little stray kitten he found on his way to work? - anon

Q was acting strangely. This in itself was hardly novel. However, rather than the strangeness of bizarre work ethics and obsessive computer works, Q was making dinner. Steak, Bond’s favourite. He was even listening to a recipe, to ensure he got it right.

Something was wrong. Q had done something, and was now attempting to make up for it.

“So what did you do?” Bond asked casually; Q blushed. He truly was a stupendously bad liar, when put on the spot. “Come on. Whatever it is…”

“You’re going to think I’m stupid and irresponsible,” Q told Bond flatly. Bond rolled his eyes.

“Possible. Now _what_ did you do?!”

Bond’s brain flicked through options, trying to find _anything_ that Q could have done that would merit this. Really, he was coming short of options. “Okay. I didn’t have an option, James, I can assure you of that. I couldn’t just walk on by.”

Concern gave way to genuine panic. “Q, tell me, _right now_.”

Q walked to the bedroom door, disappeared inside. Bond – sensing that Q wasn’t expecting him to follow – waited patiently. A moment later, Q reappeared.

With a kitten.

“You’re kidding?” Bond asked, eyebrow raised. “Q, we can’t take care of a cat. We have unbelievably erratic jobs as it is…”

Q’s eyes were wide and pleading, the cat mewling endearingly in his arms. “She’ll be no problem,” Q promised. “I’m bastardising tech to have an automated feeding system, she’ll be absolutely fine…”

“She?”

“Her name’s R,” Q said proudly, looking every inch an excitable child who had found a new pet. He cooed at R – and Bond made a valiant effort not to laugh at the name – before shooting another wide-eyed glance at Bond.

Bond sighed. “Fine. But if she pisses on the bed…”

“You won’t, will you?” Q babied at the kitten, who pawed at his face, making him giggle. Oh, but this was _such_ a bad idea.


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your writing - it totally got me hooked on 00Q! I have a prompt - Bond and Q are in a relationship pre-Skyfall. Bond knows Q's a genius, but didn't know he was going for the position of MI6's quartermaster. He's too shocked/focused on the events in Skyfall to call Q out on not telling him, but Bond brings it up when the events of the movie are done with. I'd love to see how Bond would react to Q keeping something as important as being his quartermaster secret. Thanks! - anon

“How in the _hell_ did this not strike you as being important?!” Bond yelled at him, by now at the stage of minor apoplexy.

Q was a very intelligent young man, yes. He was also Bond’s partner; Bond knew he was brilliant, and would doubtless be an excellent Quartermaster. Quite why Q had neglected to tell him about his new job role, especially given how their jobs now were linked, was beyond him.

Not to mention that Quartermaster was a role that required a frankly frightening security measures. Q would be heading onto the top ten list of ‘most wanted’ by a number of prolific organisations.

“Calm down, James,” Q said wearily. Q. Bond couldn’t think of him as anything other than Q, now. His name was gone, now Bond knew as the Quartermaster of MI6. “It’s just a job…”

“A job that requires you to change names, and presumably up the security around the flat?” Bond asked rhetorically. “Jesus, it’s a damn dangerous job…”

“And being a double-oh agent is the epitome of safety,” Q quipped drily. “I will be an excellent Quartermaster. And anyway, you’ve been saying for months that you wished you and I could spend more time together.”

“I’ll still be on missions.”

Q smirked. “Yes, but I’ll be on the comm system throughout,” he noted smugly. “I can _legally_ keep an eye on you. It’ll be _sanctioned_.”

“You’re joking, correct?” Bond asked wearily; having Q monitoring him had been stressful enough in the Skyfall incident, through anything further bordered on catastrophic in Bond’s mind. “… Q, you’re senior to me, aren’t you?”

Q’s smirk was wide enough to cause mild feelings of homicide. “Yep,” he said brightly. Bond blinked. Q outranked him. He had no _idea_ how in the fuck this had happened.

“… you’re going to be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Q nodded happily, and opened his laptop. “Now shoo, James. I have work to do.”


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, could you do one where Q's vocabulary expands exponentially when he gets angry and Bond sometimes has trouble understanding what he's saying? - anon

“If you were little more conscientious, we would not need this conversation,” Q railed. “Your capricious disregard for any form of authority is growing by noticeable increments, and god knows Eve is entirely complicit in all this…”

“I’m not ‘disregarding’ your authority…”

“Your disparaging comments would indicate otherwise, you flout my authority in work regularly…”

“What?” Bond repeated, his brain literally wheeling, anger rising in the back of his throat.

“I am trying to ameliorate our relationship, and you, meanwhile, seem intent on exacerbating our existing issues. This is not just a display of rampant histrionics, I am trying to make a point…”

“By using words that make _no sense_!” Bond roared, by now getting himself surprisingly worked up. He hated feeling stupid, and resented being out-manoeuvred in an argument due to Q’s lexical stylings.

“Perfect, keep shouting, in your usual inimical fashion. If you had a _modicum_ of intelligence…”

“Speak _English_ , Q, if you would!” Bond yelled. “Inimical? _Really_?! I don’t know _what_ you’re trying to do to our relationship, but it sounds like a squid dish, and ‘modicum’ is not a recognised unit of measurement, as far as I’m aware.”

Both men were silent for a handful of moments. Bond was waiting for the next torrent of incomprehensible garbling.

Instead, Q started laughing. “A little over-complex?” he managed, blissfully a short sentence, all normal words.

Bond sighed. He could swear Q did it to upset him. Q, meanwhile, was still snickering to himself: “So I assume you felt I was obfuscating the matter…”

“For god’s sake Q, shut up.”


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so today one of my best friends, whom I've known since grade two, casually dropped a bomb on me along the lines of HER HAVING BECOME ENGAGED so I request the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff fluffy fluff. Seriously, as lethally fluffy as you can manage. Lay it on me. I've literally been smiling the whole fucking day, I don't think I've ever been this giddy. FLUFF PLEASE <3 - virtualoutcast

MI6 found out in stages.

Eve, naturally, was the first to know. She was also instrumental in ensuring the news whipped round most pertinent parties in the space of about ten milliseconds. She had gasped, grinned, hugged both of them – Bond looked frankly alarmed at the physical contact – before congratulating them fiercely and demanding an invitation.

Q laughed, and agreed. Bond was silent, but Eve could see the smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

She never would have thought it. James Bond, engaged to the Quartermaster of MI6.

-

Q-branch received a memo. R bought flowers on her lunch break. The rest had various presents and chocolates that had been stored in their desk drawers for the last six months or so, give or take. This had been inevitable. They finally had the chance to hand them over.

Q didn’t really mind if the chocolates were a touch stale after so long sitting around. Bond was still very faintly smiling, and that rather made up for it.

-

M was told by them both together, in a semi-official meeting. It had to be cleared through him regardless, to ensure the full paperwork would be processed. This would change a few basic items of information on their files, but was otherwise perfectly fine.

Bond looked softer, somehow. Q looked like his face had remoulded itself, removing worry lines or anger. He had never been quite so supportive of a staff engagement before; usually, he could sense a bad ending. Not so with these two.

He gave his congratulations quite whole-heartedly, and wished them luck.

-

“That could have been worse,” Q mused, when the pair were home at the end of the day, laden with enough small presents to sink a battleship. Q put them all lovingly on the kitchen table, smiling appreciatively.

Bond wrapped his hands around Q’s body, arm trailing down to the thin band on the finger of his left hand, a perfect mirror to his own. This was it. They were going to be _married_.

“I love you,” Bond said quietly.

Q’s eyes closed, body melting into Bond’s easily. “I love you too.”


	84. Chapter 84

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James accidentally breaks Q's mug when they're having an argument about the equipment at work. James somehow makes it up to Q with a date? a new cup? You choose. :) Thanks! Your writing is awesome. Reading your filled prompts always cheers me up! Thank you! - anon

“… and that stunt with the earpieces was…”

“… they would have been _fine_ if hadn’t insisted on throwing them in the mid-Atlantic and fishing them out again!” Q yelled over the top of Bond’s tirade; Bond had made it back from his mission in almost one piece, but had lost a young teenage girl, a civilian, in the process. It was preying on him. Q was not prepared to be his emotional punch-bag. “This was not _my fault,_ 007, so kindly stop…”

“I am simply questioning whether you’re doing even a _slightly_ good job,” Bond yelled, slamming a fist into the desk; pulling back, he caught edge of Q’s mug.

It fell off the edge of the desk, shattering.

Q could live through verbal insults; he was a master of them, after all. They tended to skim straight off him, especially when Bond was being illogical.

His mug was inextricably connected to him. His name, his job, and a gift from the person he had left behind to join MI6. Becoming Quartermaster had meant surrendering every aspect of his old life; he could not afford ties to anything, or anybody. Nobody knew him, his name, his past.

He had been made to disappear. He had taken the mug with him. It had originally been just a reference to his brilliance at Scrabble, but the coincidence was too much to forget. He had loved Rufus, but not enough to stay, not enough to lose the chance of his job in MI6. Rufus had understood that.

Bond had slid into the place Rufus had left, and that was fine. They both knew the job, and appreciated one another. Q didn’t think about his old life often. Just enough, once in a while.

The mug lay in pieces.

“Q, I…”

“Please leave,” Q asked quietly. Bond was utterly silent. “Bond, I won’t ask again.”

He left. Q knelt next to the shattered mug, feeling oddly empty.

-

“I know it meant more to you than just being a mug,” Bond told him quietly, in the most honest apology Q had ever heard from the man. “I did source a replica, if it helps at all. I’m sorry, Q.”

Q shrugged emotionlessly.

“Can I do anything?” Bond asked, wishing he could do something to break the hollowness in Q’s gaze. “Q…”

“I know,” Q said, with a very faint smile. “It’s just a thing, just a mug. It’s alright. I just… it’s something to hold on to.”

Bond placed the replica on Q’s desk, sensing it would be relatively well-received. Q’s smile became very slightly wider, reaching out to grasp it. “I know what that means,” Bond said gently. “I’m sorry, I truly am.”

Q beckoned for Bond’s hand, holding it with eloquent fingers. “I know,” he replied lightly. “It’s okay.”


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a breakdancer and James Bond is an agent looking to make someone famous. WOOO - anon

Everybody knew that there were agents coming. It thrummed through the various performers; soloists, groups, all watched from various corners, trying to spot the agents.

Q didn’t look. There was no point in staring. He wanted to be professional; gawping at strangers didn’t precisely fit the brief. He was a soloist, had a two-minute number near the end of the show, and was also features in some crew work; he needed to be ready to dance, not seek an out through fame.

Breaking was easy as breathing, to Q. The movements were organic and confident, and had a complexity few could manage. He was also very unassuming; most b-boys had ridiculous, obnoxious musculature. Q kept himself looking thin and angular, giving him an element of surprise when he moved.

Afterwards, Q kept himself available for discussion. There was no point seeking people out; they would find you, if they wanted you, in a place like this.

“What’s your name?” asked a low, rich voice; Q turned, assessing the newcomer. He was about the right age for a decent agent, wearing an expensive-looking suit that somehow managed to not be conspicuous. Really, that in itself was a laudable achievement.

“Q,” Q returned, extending a hand.

“Bond. James Bond,” the man replied, shaking his hand with a confident grip. The younger man smiled very slightly, almost mocking, querying Bond’s motives. “You’re good. I would be interested in seeing what else you are capable of.”

“An audition?”

“Interested?” Bond parried. The young man was interesting, different. His accent was wrong for a b-boy, the background obviously removed from many of his fellows. He looked different, behaved differently; it was the kind of client Bond was keen on taking on.

The boy looked him over, smiled. “Yes. I should think so. Have a card?”

Bond handed it over, letting the boy read over it. “Give me a call tomorrow,” he suggested; the boy glanced up at him, smiling a type of smile that made Bond’s breath catch for the slightest of moments.

Oh, this could be problematic. “Believe me, Mr Bond,” the boy murmured, in an absurdly sensual voice. “I will do.”


	86. Chapter 86

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If your still taking 00Q prompts, a rogue!Q and 007 standoff would be lovely. You have such great stuff, keep up the good work. Thanks. - duskdrop

“Face the wall, hands behind your head,” Bond said sharply, gun raised. He was entirely ready to shoot the young man opposite him, despite the pain that racked him at the thought of doing so.

Q lazily twisted to the wall, slow, careful movements, lacing clever fingers behind his head. “Well James, you finally found me,” he said lightly, smiling to himself as he heard Bond shifting behind him. “It’s been a long few months.”

His breath caught; Bond pressed the cold barrel of the gun to the back of his neck, fear creeping inexorably from that contact point. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?” Bond asked flatly.

“I have no idea,” Q replied, with just a touch of tension. “I would prefer if you didn’t.”

“You betrayed us. Tanner is _dead_ because of you,” Bond hissed, pressing the gun a little harder; Q moved with it, not resisting, not fighting back.

Q’s laugh was unkind and sharp: “Tanner should have left while he had the chance,” he told Bond. “I sent through a warning, I had _expected_ people to heed it.”

“You were the Quartermaster, nobody wanted to believe you had gone rogue,” Bond snapped. “The explosion took out the entirety of Q-branch, by the way. Half of the branch you used to run is now dead.”

There was a flash of emotion; Q gasped slightly. He hadn’t known. He had believed most of Q-branch – his colleagues, his friends – had made it out of the building within the _half hour_ he’d given them to evacuate. It was more than enough time; MI6 could enact a full evac in less than ten.

He shifted, rolling his shoulders slightly. “James, I had no option,” he murmured. “MI6 were failing entirely to get anything done on the Emerald project. Matters got out of hand. I had to remove the central MI6 server; it was safest for all concerned.”

“That explosion killed fourteen people, injured another twenty,” Bond said, the words whipping through the air, knocking breath from Q; he had never meant that, not _that_. He had known there would be collateral damage, of course, but not to that degree. For Queen and Country, he had meant it, and that had led to losing good people’s lives.

“I knew what I was doing,” he said quietly, in his own defence.

“You believe you knew better than MI6?” Bond suggested icily.

“I _know_ I know better than MI6,” Q contradicted instantly. “James, please. Stop threatening to shoot me. We can talk.”

“My orders are to shoot on sight,” Bond announced, grinding the gun slightly, trying to gather his thoughts; this was his Q. He had swallowed back so many thoughts and emotions over the young Quartermaster. Three dates, before Q had vanished. Something gentle, just to begin something, but not _enough_.

Q laughed. “You’ve never followed orders in your life,” he pointed out, turning around slightly, trying to see Bond. “James, at least let me explain why. My intentions were – are – sound, I’m protecting people. I’m on the same side, just a subset thereof.”

“None of those people deserved to die. _Tanner_ did not deserve to die.”

“And I’m sorry,” Q told him honestly. “So shoot me, James. If I’m a lost cause, just kill me now, and get it over with. If not, come with me. I’ll explain everything. Just a few hours off radar for you, and you can make up your own mind.”

-

The MI6 units heard a single gunshot, and moved towards it; the errant double-oh agent had gone on ahead, without deigning to make contact. Eve and M – both of whom were monitoring the affair from their relocated HQ – were not precisely surprised to learn that Q was nowhere to be found.

And neither, it seemed, was Bond.


	87. Chapter 87

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I blame "The Hour" and Skyfall sharing Ben Whishaw for this prompt idea! What if Q does have a twin brother but he's Freddie Lyon. How does Bond take to the idea and how would Freddie take to his brother being almost a total 180 career wise? Would love to see some 00Q cuteness/fluff but otherwise have fun :) - anon

“He’s a journalist,” Q shrugged, nodding at the images of his twin brother on the television, talking some nonsense about Iraq. Q was perennially surprised by Freddie; Q had expected him to be impossible, with a brother in the secret service, potentially able to get him any and all information.

Instead, Freddie was the epitome of honest journalism. And if Q threw some pointers in along the way, they were always subtle, and never patronising. Well. Usually not patronising. They were siblings, after all.

“He’s identical to you.”

“Occupation hazard of twins,” Q commented drily. “Freddie doesn’t like computers, technology, unless it is specified in whatever he’s reporting. He’s a good journalist, has skirted very close to MI6 business over the past few years, if I’m quite honest. He has a knack with people. He can get them to talk about whatever he manoeuvres the conversation around to.”

Bond smirked slightly; it was perhaps one of Q’s notable flaws, his inability to deal with people, especially those he considered moronic. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Q ever felt jealous; judging by his expression, it was a distinct possibility.

“You’re better-looking, the hair et cetera…”

“He actually looks our age, rather than looking like an adolescent,” Q mused, looking mildly unhappy with that fact. “He’s brilliant, yes, but he got the better luck. He was out with friends, while I had a computer for company. I suppose that’s what happens; two vastly different people can be formed from similar genetics.”

“Stop thinking so hard, Q, you’ll give yourself a headache,” Bond commented, earning a glare from Q. He kept watching the young man on screen, looking so much like, and yet so different from, his Q. “Do you talk much?”

“Not since I joined MI6,” Q said, with just a lingering shadow of sadness. Q missed Freddie, on occasion; they had not been tremendously close, but close enough for Q to watch Freddie on air, every time The Hour played. “We keep tabs, but… it’s difficult.”

“I can understand that,” Bond said quietly, watching Q watch his brother. “You miss him?”

“Sometimes,” Q said with a slight smile. “As with all these things, I miss him less when I’m actually with him. He’s my brother, though, so… yes, I do, I suppose.”

Bond wrapped his arms around his young lover. Q had given so much, to join MI6; Bond couldn’t help but wonder if he’d given too much, too young, like most in MI6. Q deserved a better life, and had elected this.

Bond brushed a kiss onto Q’s forehead, and watched Freddie Lyons discuss Iraq with a passion met only with Q’s love for computers.


	88. Chapter 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!!! I believe one never gets tired of compliments, so here they go - you guys brighten up my days! Literally the only prompt fills I enjoy. Now to the prompt - Q is left without his glasses for optional reason, and as he hates contact lenses, he has to stumble through the rest of the day. Throw in some hilarity, sympathetic Bond and grumpy!Q refusing to be babied. Gracias mucho! - anon

The glasses died in an accident involving a blender and a blowtorch. Q refused to elaborate, but Bond would remain wary of any smoothies from Q-branch for a long while, just in case of blended glass.

It was a beautiful irony, seeing the mangled glasses frames. Bond didn’t draw attention.

Q could not see more than a foot or so in front of him. He didn’t have spare glasses, and refused on principle to use contact lenses: _they are pieces of plastic, on my eye. There is something fundamentally wrong with that._

Thus, Q attempted to stumble through the rest of the day with minimal visibility. Computer work was off the table. Bond walked in find Q staring a the internal workings of a hard drive, his nose millimetres from the thing.

“You could always just swallow it,” Bond commented; Q looked up, squinted. Deliberately relaxed his features to pretend he could focus at all. Bond was a blur. A large, colourful blur.

“Not a good time,” Q muttered, as he returned to his very, _very_ close examination of the hard drive.

Bond took a step closer. Still a blur. “Where are your glasses?”

“Half melted, half in a blender,” Q snapped. “What do you want?”

“Q, where are your spare glasses?” Bond asked, teetering on the edge of being very patronising indeed. Q shot him a ferocious glare, slightly dimmed by not quite being able to make eye contact beyond The Blots Where Bond’s Eyes Should Be, but an impressive effort nonetheless.

“At home,” Q responded shortly. Bond took another stop, gently lowering Q’s hands. “What do you _want?!_ ”

“Q, you’re one of the blindest people I’ve ever met. Give it up, go home. You can work from home for the rest of the day, I’m sure, if you’re worried about wasting travel time.”

“I need to be in-branch…”

“Q. You will be fine. Stop it,” Bond told him curtly; Q considered a string of fervent and eloquent objections, but was stopped by Bond pulling the hard drive out of his hands. “You know you won’t do anything properly when you can’t see, anyway.”

Q, to his credit, put up a good fight. It took Bond nearly another full hour to coax him out of Q-branch.

He tried not to laugh, as Q pretended he could see, and promptly tripped up on everything in the vicinity that was close to the same colour as the floor.


	89. Chapter 89

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your writing rocks!!! I was thinking about this prompt a bit. Where in Q hits James on the face .. having had a bad day at Q Branch and James is not really sympathetic and tries to take Q into a hug and Q just lashes out and either slaps (little girly) or clocks him in the jaw(is Q strong enough? LOL) then hurt comfort angst love.. yadda yadda yadda thanks xoxo - anon

“You know, I’ve had a really _shit_ day, and you’re not precisely helping matters…”

Bond just stood there smirking. “A bit tired, hmm?” he suggested condescendingly. “Somebody break one of your toys?”

“I swear, Bond, I will make your life hell,” Q hissed, more honestly than he’d expressed any sentiment towards Bond all day. Everything had gone wrong; no lives were lost, but equipment was now scattered across Q-branch, and there had been some incidentals with explosives which Q had to budget for _despite_ it being the fault of the testers for playing with them rather than _using them properly_.

Fucking arrogant agents.

Bond trying to manhandle him into a hug was not well-received, for the afore-mentioned reasons. Q leant his weight back, and hammered upwards with a slightly pulled punch. He didn’t want to break Bond’s cheekbone; the man was _pretty_ , after all.

He did land a good, solid punch however. Bond reeled back on instinct, holding a hand to his face; to Q’s dismay, he then promptly burst out laughing. “That’s _it_?!” Bond exclaimed, as he probed the slightly sore skin. “You punch like a six-year-old girl.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Q exclaimed crossly.

Bond was still laughing to him. “You will never fail to at least amuse me,” he noted, slightly condescending.

Q decided that evidently, punches were achieving nothing. Instead, he used the one thing he had in his favour; a relatively rare martial arts form, one that targeted nerve clusters. Debilitating, required speed and accuracy, with minimal force.

Bond caught him mid-motion, as he tried to jab forward.

“I hate you,” Q told him firmly.

There was just a faint smile in reply, a loving shadow that led Q to forgive absolutely anything. Bond held his wrists tightly, keeping him from fighting further, keeping him completely tethered.

“I love you too,” Bond said, just to be contrary, and Q hated Bond for quite so horribly endearing.


	90. Chapter 90

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q had a fight that somehow made Q said "I'm more important in MI6 than you!" then later things happened where Bond sacrifices himself in order to let Q live. He survive or not, it's up to you :) - anon

“Yes, James, but at the end of it, you are easily replaceable. Active agents are commonplace, a computer technician of my calibre truly isn’t,” Q told him lividly. “I have created some of the most important technological developments on the market, MI6  _need me_. Jesus, I was hired because everyone was too shit scared to consider what would happen if I worked for the wrong side!”

Both reeled for a moment, arguments flying like bullets in and through them. Bond nodded once, sharply. “I understand,” he said, effectively closing his participation in the argument.

Q wondered which part had upset Bond so much. He considered himself forgiven when the agent kissed his forehead gently, and the pair slept curled around one another.

-

When they attack the flat at three in the morning, Bond is in motion faster than Q knew possible.

There is a panic room behind the wardrobe; Bond slides the door open, bundles Q inside. There is enough time for the briefest, searing kiss, before Bond _moronically_ decides to not batten down the hatches _with_ Q, but instead, remain to encounter whoever is after Q.

They can only be after Q; this is his flat, after all. Even if they’re after Bond, the Quartermaster is a greater find.

Q remembers his words, his last words to Bond on the subject, and is abruptly terrified. Bond has done the right thing; if they believe the flat is occupied, they would tear it apart finding the two of them. Bond can stall for time, distract them while MI6 cavalry start charging.

There would be no point wasting Bond’s sacrifice. He can only sit the minute space of the panic room, developing new-found claustrophobia while listening to the man he loves being beaten to within an inch of his life.

By the time MI6 arrive, Q had regressed to foetal, and Bond is motionless. The assailants are dead - MI6 take them out in seconds - and their Quartermaster is still alive, and that is a tremendous achievement. Bond did the right thing.

Q would give practically anything to swap places with the stupid bastard, as MI6 load him into an ambulance, and Q muses to himself on the nature of relative importance while watching somebody he loves die by inches.


	91. Chapter 91

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has been getting mirgaine headaches for years but hides them from Bond. So some hurt/comfort sweetness when Bond finds Q ankle deep in a nasty one? - Anon

“I want to die,” Q moaned. He was lying back on the bed, bedroom curtains shut, most noise blocked out.

Bond snorted, and found Q’s medication, some serious painkillers that Q had been literally in too much pain to find. “You’ll be fine, Q,” he soothed; despite the snort at Q’s melodrama, he was aware that the Quartermaster was in a considerable amount of pain. “What can I get you?”

“Water,” Q said immediately. Bond reached for the glass already on the bedside table, which he’d fetched the moment he realised the gravity of the situation; Q looked mildly impressed, even more so when Bond popped in a straw with a flourish, allowing Q to drink while basically still horizontal.

He also downed the painkillers. Twenty minutes, maybe a half hour, and Q would hopefully feel better.

In the interim, Bond placed a soft hand on Q’s arm, testing the waters; to his unending surprise, a very young looking Q tugged him onto the bed, trying to coax Bond into hugging him properly.

Bond shifted himself into an acceptable position, lifting Q so the younger man was essentially lying on him, Q made a small, appreciative noise, settling easily, clinging onto the strength of Bond’s arm with beautiful, pale fingers.

“It hurts,” Q said, very quickly, devastatingly. Bond leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“It’ll be gone soon,” he promised. “Just hang on for me, alright?”

“Alright,” Q agreed, letting Bond rock him until the worst of the storm had passed.


	92. Chapter 92

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random idea but too good not to share: Q has music for pretty much every mood from mission background noise to the piano pieces he keeps for a really bad day (I have head canon that says he plays piano). So maybe something about Bond knowing Q’s mood via his music choices? - Anon

Q and music were inextricably linked. Bond had become incredibly accustomed to the humming, singing, playing that he could hear from the Quartermaster at all hours of the day and night; the music lived somewhere in Q, organically produced, ceasing only when his mind was too singularly focused.

Bond’s favourite was the humming or whistling when it was a good day at Q-branch, and Q working through his own mental back catalogues of The Rat Pack and other jazz numbers; on a more classical theme, Q even started to try and hum the entirely of _Rhapsody in Blue_ solo. A truly unique experience.

When Bond was on a mission, Q began The Theme Tune Collection, quite inadvertently; Bond would be in the midst of killing several people, when the immortal strains of Indiana Jones would reverberate in his ear. Mission Impossible was another favourite, and – during one particularly tricky mission that had taken several hours to complete – the Great Escape.

As Q and Bond started to date, spending ever more time with one another, Bond tuned into the softer melodies he kept for home; Q had a complete dearth of knowledge concerning most modern music, but hummed the Rite of Spring quite happily to himself.

The true teller was the piano. Q made a living of being mostly inscrutable; when playing the piano, it was a door opening, showing Bond the truth, Q’s thoughts, beliefs, ideas, moods.

The bleak sadness of a Rachmaninov dirge, the sparkling excellence of a darting Beethoven piano allegro _,_ the rocking, haunting motions of _Le Onde_. Bond could read worlds in his music, sense tension in a strained chord, and joy in an upbeat. He had never known music before Q; now, it is as simple a language as any.

Q plays lyrical compositions; the notes linger on the most beautiful chords, strain for more, strain for the junction of two foreign tunes in the perfect discordance a minor seventh, the rise and fall of modulated harmony.

It is so much more honest than a collection of words: ‘I love you’ is laced in a piano concerto, and truly, it is more than enough.


	93. Chapter 93

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt : Q have a panic attack ( caused by by memories of the past). James is his boyfriend and really trying to help. Thank you. - Anon

“Q?”

Bond’s voice was calm, steady, something to cling onto. Q tried to tune into it, trying to phase out the constant shriek that kept rising inexorably in the back of his head, the pain visceral and immediately.

“Q, listen to me,” Bond said again, as Q hyperventilated, growing more panicked by the second as hysteria outweighed any common sense. “Q, hold your breath for me, please.”

Q couldn’t think, and he was suffocating, why the _hell_ would he hold his breath when he was _suffocating_ , he needed air, any air, _please_ , he just wanted to breathe properly. He sobbed, shrieked, sucked in any air he could, unable and slightly unwilling to calm down when Bond seemed intent on killing him.

“Trust me, Q,” Bond said again, louder, slapping Q gently on the cheek to try and get his attention. “Hold your breath for me, I promise it’ll be alright.”

Q sobbed. Bond slapped him, slightly harder; it did nothing for Q’s general panic, but did put a stop to him whooping in too much oxygen and creeping closer to passing out. “Hold your breath,” Bond repeated; Q tried, he truly did, his chest still fighting to heave in sobs.

He was incapable of speech. “You’re alright,” Bond murmured, stroking Q’s cheek gently. “What brought this all on?”

Q shook his head; he would talk about it later, when it was over, when he was sane enough to conduct a conversation without relapsing back to incoherency. Instead, he let James hold him carefully, calming down as best he could, angry with himself for having got this upset in the first place.

“It’s okay,” Bond continued to soothe; he would never mind anything like this. Panic happened, hurt happened; he liked knowing he was there for Q, if it came. He liked knowing he could take of Q, regardless of the situation. “I’ve got you.”


	94. Chapter 94

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please can you write a 00Q fic where Q gets the flu really badly and Bond gets really fussy and takes care of him so much so that Q can’t get any sleep because of the constant attention and then when asked why he’s going over the top with the comforting part he replies with the fact that his parents could never take care of him and he gets really nostalgic and sad about it so Q comforts him and it can be really fluffy and cute! I really love your writing by the way:D Thank you it’ll make my day! - Anon

It was the soup that finally did it.

“James, you’re mad,” Q said snottily. “Tell me you didn’t make soup?”

“It’s not that complex. Boil a chicken carcass with some vegetables, you have soup,” Bond said with a shrug, letting Q cradle the bowl on his lap. Q looked between Bond, and _chicken soup_ , and just snorted a little.

“James Bond _made soup_ ,” Q repeated, slightly disbelievingly. “Well. That’s… new.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond commented drily.

Q laughed, taking a spoonful; it was _good_ , really good. “It’s lovely James, I’m just… why are you doing this?” he asked, voice turning gentler. “It’s a cold, maybe flu at a push.”

“It’s good to have someone taking care of you,” Bond said carefully, simply, hand seeking Q’s forehead; the fever he had been running the previous night had thankfully broken, leaving Q obviously unwell, but on the road to recovery. Q’s expression still asked quiet questions. “I like being able to take care of you, because I know what it’s like when nobody does.”

Q’s expression closed in slightly. “I’m sorry,” Q murmured.

“Eat your soup.”

Q obliged. “James…”

“You know I didn’t have a family, I didn’t have anybody to do this for me,” Bond said, answering the question before Q managed to ask it. “It’s important. You matter to me, I want to look after you.”

A hand reached out, curling around Bond’s wrist. “Thank you,” he said, very honestly. It meant everything, having Bond there. Q was very good at teasing, but he would give anything to keep him.

“Then stop whinging,” Bond quipped; Q raised an eyebrow, rolled his eyes, and ate his soup.


	95. Chapter 95

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would really like a fic where 007 and Q are on a mission together and Bond gets hurt by the criminals chasing them. Q, who has little to no experience with guns, must then fend off and kill their attackers to protect Bond. Against all odds, he ends up being successful at this. Happy ending, please. - Anon

Q had a gun. It was a notional thing. He knew the internal workings of handguns in minute detail, but couldn’t really shoot a moving target. He was completely confident that it would shoot _precisely_ where he pointed it. He was a lot _less_ confident that he could point it properly.

Bond let out a strangled cry, toppling to the ground next to him, cracking his head against the pavement. He was bleeding quite badly, but not lethally so - more importantly, he was stone cold unconscious. Bollocks.

Q had very few options. There was no way in hell he could move Bond, and there was a collection of people chasing them. Fuck, in short.

He tugged out Bond’s handgun, pathetically grateful that he – as the person who’d done the bloody programming – could get around the handprint sensor. Loading it was simple and easy. He also had his own, but he honestly trusted Bond’s gun more than his own – it had been fiddled with more.

There were a lot of footsteps coming. Q dragged Bond’s body out of the way as best he could, before hiding behind the edge of a doorway, waiting for people to appear.

Q heard them; he popped his head out, breathed, rattled off a couple of shots. There was a strangled yell, and a crash; one was down.

 _Comeoncomeoncomeon_ , he told himself, and ventured out again. He shot as he moved, utilising a misspent childhood of video games in aiming as best he could. He was a really shit shot, that much was obvious, but he made one or two hit home.

“Oh, wake up, you stupid _wanker_ ,” he snarled at Bond’s unconscious form, trying to steel himself to move again. _Jesus_ , this was not good. He had taken out two of an approximate five.

 _Here we go_.

Q stepped out; his assailants knew he was coming, there was a cascade of bullets, and Q held onto his gun and thought of James and just kept shooting. When he ran out of bullets, he managed to swap over to his own handgun, continuing shooting.

He kept on moving. First rule – do not present a predictable target to get shot at. He weaved back and forth, shooting whenever he saw anything move.

Q single-handedly kept him and Bond protected, until the MI6 extraction team entered; at that stage, all five were killed properly – Q, for all his efforts, had managed no more than a lingering chest shot and a few limbs – and they retrieved the pair of them.

-

“So. I hear you’re the worst shot in the Western world?” Bond mocked, the sting slightly muted given that he was in a hospital bed. Q raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t _have_ to save your life.”

Bond grabbed the front of Q’s cardigan, dragging him down to a deep kiss. “Yes,” Bond contradicted, air hot in Q’s mouth. “Yes, you do.”


	96. Chapter 96

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey..love the stories.. well done. Maybe do one where Q and James are at a restaurant and they dont really listen to what Q orders and bring him a plate with some things on there that he is highly allergic to and James notices. but maybe too late as Q starts to gasp and grabs his neck so James has to do the EpiPen shot. or Q will go into Anaphylaxict shock. - Anon

Bond had the oddest suspicion that the waiters weren’t entirely certain of what either of them had ordered - they were very, very Italian, and while Bond could have told them _in_ Italian, it tended to scare people. Nevertheless, he decided to take it on trust.

He and Q both ended up with pasta; Q had a white sauce that looked promisingly like carbonara, and Bond had some type of tomato-based meat thing. Again, it looked just about promising, if a sidestep away from what Bond had actually ordered.

Bond took a bite; he swore slightly, a rush of chilli heat coming to greet him. Downing a glass of water, he took a glance up at Q, half-laughing himself.

“Shellfish,” Q said, very quietly, fork dangling limply in his hand. “ _Fuck_.”

As though on cue, Q’s breathing became laboured. Bond was immediately in motion; he knew of Q’s allergies, knew that if Q had ingested any shellfish, anaphylactic shock was essentially guaranteed.

Q’s fingers scraped over his skin as he gasped for breath, watching Bond, completely unable to do much as his body went completely out of his own control. Bond scrambled for Q’s bag, yelling for somebody to call an ambulance, trying to find the _bloody_ EpiPen which Q helpfully stored at the _bottom_ of his bag.

Bond couldn’t help the slight yell of triumph as he found it. He reached for Q’s leg, yanked it towards him, stabbed the EpiPen into Q’s thigh.

The wheezing, thankfully, faded almost instantly. Q took deeper breaths, blinking languidly, head lolling slightly. “Thank you,” he mumbled to James, letting Bond tug him into a hug, mindless of the people surrounding.

Bond held him carefully, the pair waiting for the ambulance, Bond knocking the offending pasta dish practically off the table. “You aren’t allowed to die on me,” he told Q simply, and let his lover breathe exhaustedly into his shoulder.


	97. Chapter 97

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! Your writing always brightens my day when I see it on my dash! Take a gander at this: James is mortally wounded on a mission, and the doctors at Medical say he has next to no chance of surviving his injuries. Unable to accept that it may be James’ time, Q summons a demon and makes a deal: James lives and the demon gets his soul, leaving Q with ten years left to live. James wakes up and somehow manages to find out, and he’s unhappy with Q for what he did. Fluffy ending maybe? - laughtersilveredwings

“I’m sorry,” a doctor says, in a voice that is accustomed to delivering bad news. “I’m afraid he has little to no chance of regaining consciousness.

 _Fuck that_ , Q thinks, and walks out. He slams the door behind him, because he can.

-

Bond wakes up, with a dim awareness that he hadn’t expected to do so. He remembers a lot of pain, a _lot_ of pain, actually. The blood loss had knocked him out, and he had slipped into what he had assumed was death – or a near equivalent, with a final regret that he hadn’t said goodbye to Q properly.

Q is settled next to him, smiling infectiously. “You’re awake,” he says happily.

“How am I not dead?” Bond asks, feeling relatively confused. Q rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically.

“Ask a loaded question…”

-

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Bond railed; the demon had done as promised, Bond was out of bed, and unfortunately, ranting with the ability to walk around and look menacing. “You gave yourself only _ten years_ to live…”

“At least I have a definite finishing date,” Q said calmly. “James, I couldn’t watch you die like that. There will be a mission, there will always be another _fucking_ mission, but I swear for as long as I have years left to give, I will hand them _all_ over to get just another _minute_ with you, you _bastard_.”

Q shuddered to a halt, breath coming unevenly. He was aware that he had gone from nothing to everything in the space of a few words, but didn’t Bond _understand_? He had the power to keep James alive, and he _would_.

“I don’t want to see you die either,” Bond said, a little more gently.

Q stared back up at him. “Yes, but what are the chances?” he asked, with horrible quiet. “You nearly die on a regular basis. Next time, they’ll shoot straight through the skull, rather than playing with their food, and you’ll be gone. No demon could fix that. So while I can, I’m going to keep you here.”

Bond kissed him, and Q sighed against him, feeling oddly hollow. “I’m sorry,” Bond murmured. “I don’t mean to be reckless.”

“I fear your idea of ‘safety’ would kill us all instantly, so kindly don’t try,” Q replied with minimal bite. “Do you understand?” he asked quietly.

Bond nodded, head resting against Q, feeling the younger man’s heartbeat. He hated knowing the heartbeats were numbered. Nobody ever wants to admit that their love would one day die.

They had this moment. They had so very _many_ more moments. That, ultimately, was the only thing that mattered.


	98. Chapter 98

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok so i know you fill your prompts in the order they come to you, but because it's daniel's birthday today do you think you can do a 00q one where they celebrate at home or something? lots of fluff please! omg thank you so much, and i love all your prompt fills <3 - anon

“Happy birthday!”

Bond gave a quiet, irritable moan. He truly loathed his own birthday. It was a stupidly annoying time of year where everybody in MI6 started glancing at him, and debating more loudly whether he should still be an active double-oh agent. It was a time of year where he started examining himself in more detail, wondering whether wrinkles were imagined, and if his hair was starting to turn a little whiter than blond.

“Don’t be like that, I made cake.”

Bond opened his eyes, twisting around to look at his young lover. Q smiled without guile or apology, leaning on his elbow, fingers twirled in his dark hair, sheets resting around his middle, bare skin of his torso on display.

“Cake?” Bond repeated, with some mild scepticism.

“Yep,” Q said happily. “Cake. On a purely technical basis I didn’t make it, but I specified the parameters, designed it. So. Your birthday. We’re also going out to dinner. I have a suit.”

“You have a what?!” Bond repeated, sitting up a little more. “A suit?”

Q never wore suits. He hated them. He felt he looked like a confused deer while wearing them. To Bond’s confusion, he nodded, confirming. “A suit. I have a suit, specially for you.”

Bond smiled. Every once in a while, it struck him just how much Q loved him. Ten months together; they had fallen into a heady, absurd love affair. Bond would protect and love Q to the edges of the world, and was never reticent about it.

Q found it harder; his mind split into work and personal, and so much of his life was work. His love was drawn in moments like this, and that was more than enough for Bond.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Bond commented quietly, hand seeking Q’s; Q raised an eyebrow, smirked.

“I know. That’s something of the point. I don’t have to, but I want to, for you,” he replied, very lightly, leaning forward, kissing him.

Bond let out a slightly growl of want, the younger man laughing as Bond yanked him forward so he toppled over Bond’s torso, bodies beautifully linked. “Love you,” Bond told him firmly, kissing Q’s neck tenderly, Q sighing beneath him.

“I love you too,” Q replied, in a gentle murmur. “Happy birthday, James.”


	99. Chapter 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful person, could you write something where James and Q get along (or get together) because James is one of the only people outside of Q-branch who actually understands what Q is talking about? Like Q explaining something to Mallory and everyone else surprised because James has reflexively started to translate the technobabble. Thank you!!! Your fills are always fantastic. - anon

“… this works on a binary, oscillating wavelength, will vacillate between the two frequencies. For contact purposes…”

“Essentially, press that button, and you get a secure line to MI6,” Bond interrupted, indicating the button. M was watching Q with the glazed-over expression of somebody who had long since stopped listening.

Q turned to Bond, blinked. Grinned.

-

Q was bleating about something or other. Eve could safely say she didn’t have the faintest idea what any of it meant, but he was very enthusiastic, and using a great deal of vocabulary which may well have been another language for all she knew.

“Essentially, he’s made the MI6 servers nigh on impenetrable. He’s also had to chance your security access. This is his way of letting you know,” Bond told her in an undertone; Q seemed completely oblivious, still gesticulating madly at the screens behind him, a passionate light behind his eyes which was very endearing to see.

Eve nodded, and continued pretending to understand.

-

Bond stayed, and he listened.

Q was the type to be massively overenthusiastic about everything pertaining to his job. He spent a good hour or so daily just ranting.

Bond would have lasted approximately five minutes in a relationship with Q if he didn’t have a decent understand of what Q was getting at, in his rants. Bond was able to subtly translate the word babble that came out of Q regularly into something other human beings could understand without using Google to search for pertinent words.

“Why do you let me go on like this?” Q snorted one night, after an expansive monologue about the benefits of mutating fractured waveforms, which Bond had admirably kept pace with, offering quiet questions and prompts intermittently.

“You’re happy,” Bond said, as though that explained everything, as though that was completely _enough_.

What Q didn’t appear to understand, quite yet, was that for Bond, it _was_ enough. More than enough. He would listen to Q’s monologues daily for the rest of his life, if he was happy.

Q flushed, passion turning his eyes and cheeks bright; really, Bond wouldn’t have stopped him, even if he could.


	100. Chapter 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello, i only started to follow you two and you make some very amazingly deliciously good stories. I have a challenge: make a story of bond and Q where Q’s technology back fires. bond received a video by email with Q saying a tender sweet message in the lines of “if you receive this message, i am afraid i am dead.” but make it like a lover’s farewell. then once the video ends, bond gets a call from Q very apologetic because the video got sent because of a bug of some sort in his computer. BUT here is the real challenge if you accept it… you have to use every single word i used in this message at least once. obviously you would have to add many more to make a coherent story. get it? so you must use, mission, get, it, coherent, deliciously, etc… i am such an ass. oh, now, you have to use ass too. - frenchmutiny

Bond woke when an alarm began blaring into his ear, obviously not one of his own – he had far kinder alarm systems – but obnoxious none the less. “Q?” Bond rasped; usually, Q was lying next to him in the morning, deliciously naked, waiting for him, sheets barely covering his ass.

Apparently, this morning was not to be quite so promising. The blaring was issuing from Q’s computer; Bond stumbled over to it, blinking rapidly, staying vertical proving something of a challenge at this time of the morning.

Bond prised the damn thing open, blinking at the lines of text, too-bright. _Check your email_. Bond hoped very hard that whatever message Q was sending was damn important, or the younger man would have cause to be exceptionally apologetic in the very near future.

A video, no accompanying message. Bond loaded it, slightly afraid of what he would find; Q would usually call, if there was something amiss.

“Hello,” Q said, with a sweet smile, filling the screen with his lover’s face, a pre-recorded video. “If this message has reached you, then I owe you a coherent apology, in tandem with this – my farewell.”

Bond’s eyes started to widen; Q’s smile was very honest, two green eyes shining in the reflected light of his screens.

“I know this will be difficult to accept, but please, listen to me. Every single day with you has been a challenge; you make me feel alive, James, you make me _real_. Every moment has been completely, amazingly perfect.

Technology is nothing, it will be a dead art in a matter of years, but you, James – each mission you conduct, each challenge you face, you win. I thought I would only be another of your many conquests, and yet…”

Q stopped for a moment, fires raging in his eyes, passion and beauty and tender thought living in him, so amazingly bright. Q was so much; he was the sort to spend hours combing out a single bug in a piece of software, would follow agents in meticulous detail, engrossed himself in work – and yet, would still be there at the end of a day if he could.

“I love you so much, James, and you should know that. We knew this would end, and my apology is in that you should not be alone again. I get that you’ll spend some time getting back at whoever, or whatever, killed me… just be safe, James. Ours is a unique story, amongst the millions of stories in MI6; you and I, managing to stay together, that’s important. Don’t forget that.”

Bond was relatively certain he had gone into shock. Q could not be gone. This video – it had to be wrong, there was some explanation, there _had_ to be.  
  
“I love you, James. Be safe, for me.”

The shock, the empty, hollow pain sunk into him, a murderously painful ache that tortured him with every _thought_.

Bond’s phone rang; he reached for it, feeling intensely hollow. He pressed the repeat key, his lover saying in his deliciously smooth voice that he was _gone_.

_Please no, please let it not be true…_

“James?” said a familiar voice, one he was so used to, the voice that could make him feel at least _vaguely_ safe. But Q was gone, Bond could still hear every word echoing in his head – the voice could not be Q’s, but just _once_ , this just one time, he would give everything for it to be true.

“ _Fuck_ ,” James swore, his breath shuddering violently, trying to form a coherent sentence and failing spectacularly.

“James, are you alright?”

“Q, jesus, _jesus_ , you’re alive… where are you?!”

“The message you received was sent because of a system error. I’m so sorry, James, are you alright?”

“I just saw you telling me you’re dead, so no, I’m not really alright,” Bond managed. “And just to add more insult to injury, it’s _three in the morning_.”

“James, I’m at work, but I’m safe,” Q soothed. “I am truly sorry, that must have been a horrible thing to receive, but I’m here. I’ve got you. Get into Q-branch, I’m waiting for you. I’m firing the ass responsible for this too, I’m just so sorry…”

“Our story?” Bond asked mockingly; the immediate thrum of emotion fading out, leaving him with a very immediate need to do _something_ to cover up how upset he’d been. It was probably too late, but _damn it_ , he had never been good at dealing with upset.

“Don’t,” Q warned. “I made an effort. You need to be reminded, sometimes – it isn’t all about you. Nobody thought we would last in MI6, and here we are – so don’t knock it.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Bond replied, with a soft smile, relief making him dizzy. “I’m on my way.”

“Good,” Q told him. “I’m waiting.”


	101. Chapter 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, I have a prompt! When Q is bored or has nothing better to do on a day off, he composes. One day, Bond finds out (in the most creative way possible). X - litelock

Q and Bond almost never shared days off. They stole evenings and nights and mornings and afternoons whenever they could, but actual _days_ were nigh on impossible to come by.

Therefore, Q had no suspicion that Bond would magically appear at his flat at near-lunchtime on a Tuesday; he had honestly thought Bond was on his mission for the next few days.

“Q…”

Q reacted with unbelievable speed, whipping his gun off his side table. Bond lifted his hands, with a dash of irony. “Hello,” he said lightly. Q swore to himself, placed the gun back on the table.

“You’re back early,” he said, returning his attention to the piano; Bond watched in awe. He had the seen the piano – a beautifully lacquered baby grand – but never heard Q play it before. He had almost assumed a pretentious decoration.

Apparently, Q could play. Not only that, but he played _perfectly_.

“What is that?” Bond asked, voice slightly hushed, as the waves of music washed over him. Q glanced up, smiled gently.

“Nothing,” he said with a light shrug. “Self-composition. It’s my calm, my moment of safety. I create.”

Bond was quiet for a moment, listening to the music swell around them; the motion changed, the sounds more abrupt, a sharp divergence, an allegretto, rapid and oscillating motion.

“For you,” Q said with a wry smile; Bond listened, and could _hear_ it. The calm suavity of his exterior playing through a smooth elegant glissando, the sharp angularity of a C sharp, unexpected, discordant and yet somehow apt; Q is drawing him in music.

“Q, it’s brilliant,” Bond laughed; the warm chords found their harmonics, contrapuntal motion, the awe-inspiring juxtaposition of elegance and anger. It is him, and it is gorgeous. It is the greatest compliment Bond has ever been given.

Q smiled. “Thank you,” he replied, drawing it to a close. The sustained beauty lingers heavily, an odd form of suspended silence. “So,” Q said brightly. “If we have the time, what would like to do?”

“Play,” Bond asked quietly. “If you would.”

Q came very close to blushing, fingers caressing keys, and obliged.


	102. Chapter 102

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey. If it’s not too much trouble, could you please write a fill where Bond is injured badly (a serious leg injury, maybe) and is forced to retire. And, can you please write Q helping him to deal with it, and get over how depressed he is. - anon

Q wrapped his body around Bond’s like an exoskeleton, keeping him guarded from everything in the world that he humanly could. Bond was small for once, a world away from the unbreakable, suave, sophisticated gentlemen the world was accustomed to.

“I’m sorry,” Q whispered, knowing Bond was aware.

There was no reply, which was somewhat expected.

-

“James, this _isn’t my fault_ ,” Q yelled at him, passionately, desperately angry. “I know you’re hating this, but _jesus_ , it’s still my job, and _I love it too_. I’m sorry you can’t stay on active duty, but if you refuse to condescend to paperwork, you’re going to have to stay in retirement. Your call. Don’t you _dare_ take this out on me, do you understand?”

The door rattled on its hinges when Bond slammed it shut behind him.

-

The phone rang. Q picked it up, looking at it with a sad gaze. A light sigh. “Yes?” he asked, listening to the familiar tone. “I know. I felt you should have some space for a little while…” the voice picked up speed, velocity. “I know that, but you were being… yes… no, James, just… James, _James_ , I know… okay,” another soft sigh. “Alright. Are you sure?”

Q listened to the thin, fractured monologue on the other end of the phone.

“You too. I’ll be home soon.”

-

“I thought I’d die long before forced retirement,” Bond told him quietly, finally expressing something other than unfocused rage. “I didn’t expect this. I’m useless, Q, I’m half dead.”

“Fuck off, Bond, and get over yourself,” Q snapped; he had worked his way through too many arguments, too much pain over this. He couldn’t be supportive indefinitely, and Bond was not making this simple or easy – what was more, he was ignoring any logic or common sense. “Your life doesn’t end here. You’re making it do so, and I can’t pretend to be supportive of your rotting quietly while waiting for something miraculous. Talk to M, find something, keep busy. I’ve said all this before.”

Bond watched him through deep, hollow eyes. Active duty had been _everything_ to him, and Q did understand that; but everything had to end. A private, quiet part of Q was almost _happy_. Bond would not die on the field. They would have a far longer time together if Bond’s life expectancy wasn’t halved each time he went on a mission.

An ugly trait, perhaps, but an honest one. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want you to lose yourself,” Q replied easily, extending a hand out; Bond’s rested in his, connecting them perfectly. Bond nodded, weary, devastated, but accepting. “Be safe, my 007, and don’t you dare forget who you are.”


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i’ve just spend my entire day reading every single filled prompt that you’ve written. your writing is amazing. I was wondering if i could give you a prompt? Q and Bond flirting with each other and using in jokes over the comm and the rest of q-branch just being completely confused and whatnot. :) - geek-in-a-box

“Q, my only sunshine, where in the hell am I?”

“Cairo,” Q replied, smirking; Bond had a funny habit of singing the _entirety_ of ‘you are my sunshine’ at random intervals, which Q found the single most endearing thing anybody had ever done in the history of the universe, and Bond just prayed it would never be recorded.

“Yes, I figured that much out. _Where_ in Cairo?”

“I’m assuming you won’t ask for directions?”

“… and _that_ is why you’re the woman,” Bond completed; Q watched him duck around a camel, lifting something red and shiny off a merchant’s table in an act of thievery that was truly commendable.

“I saw that!”

“I wasn’t very subtle,” Bond returned drily. “I seem to have tails, by the way, planning to do anything about them?”

“ _Excellent_ , I was wondering when you’d notice,” Q snorted, typing for a few precious seconds. “Alright, alley to your left.”

“I’m sure there’s a pun in there somewhere…”

“Less talk, more movement,” Q told him sharply, trying to expand the picture, the banter becoming briefly more serious at Q’s end as he tried to ID those on Bond’s tail.

“And where have I heard _that_ before…”

-

Q-branch listened. Wide-eyed, open mouthed, wrinkle-nosed; there was really no escaping the apparent, and extremely implausible, circumstance that their Quartermaster – one of the most dangerous men alive – was in a relationship with the ostensibly straight – and another of the most dangerous men alive – James Bond.

Implausible or not, it was apparently true; one of the younger Q-branch operatives blushed at the blatant innuendoes, earning him a sharp glare from R. R took no shit whatsoever, and had no interest in belittling their boss unnecessarily.

She truly did need to ensure such jokes and conversations were kept _outside_ the workplace, however. She appeared in the centre of Q’s office, had a quick, controlled conversation about his commentary around Q-branch.

Q nodded, wide-eyed, apologetic. R vanished as abruptly as she’d appeared; Bond let out a low chuckle.

“Glad I’m such a workplace hazard…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Q quipped in return; he loved having James with him in his ear, it was immeasurably comforting.

Bond laughed, and Q listened to it with a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in _years_.


	104. Chapter 104

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song-Prompt for 00q! Like We Used To by A Rocket to the Moon. Xx - litelock

“007 is on terra firma, and offline,” Q informed M; M spewed something vacuous, Q zoning out faintly. Bond was offline, and with the latest conquest he’d acquired from his mission, some slip of a woman with ice in her eyes.

It was absurd, childish. Q had known – should have known – that Bond did not commit to relationships. His heart belonged with a woman long-dead, and Q – with his bright eyes and slim body – could not possibly hope to even faintly touch the implacable James Bond.

They had shared a few weeks. Q had allowed himself to believe that Bond wanted him for more than experimentation, and had been entirely wrong. Q had thrown his entire being into the first relationship he’d had since college; he knew Bond’s file, but importantly, he knew how to listen.

Bond loved Lawrence of Arabia, and could easily quote many of Lawrence’s speeches. He listened to Q’s computer-related tirades, and even understood a good deal of it. He knew all the words to every single song by Prince, could rumble ‘Purple Rain’ to the nighttime, at ease with himself, at ease with everything.

A few weeks. Bond had simply said he could not stay in a relationship. It had ended there and then, and Bond had moved on almost instantly.

Q still had no idea why. It still hurt. He fucked a series of beautiful women, and Q was left to wonder, watching Bond bounce back.

One month, and he was watching his life remain in interpersonal stasis. He couldn’t help but think about James – it was bloody stupid, and he truly did despise it, but it was _James_ bloody _Bond_. Bond was a law unto himself, and Q could not forget him.

Not to mention that for a strangled handful of weeks, Q had believed himself loved by somebody who had no reason to care about him. He couldn’t – and didn’t entirely want to – forget that in a hurry.

He wondered. He couldn’t help but do so, consider everything that _might have been_ , if they had managed a few more days, a few more weeks. If Bond had told him _why_ , if Q could have fixed it, _if_. That single word lingered persistently, damagingly.

He hoped that one day, perhaps, he would understand.

For now, he settled back, and pretended not to glance at CCTV of Bond, heading home, losing himself in somebody else.


	105. Chapter 105

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you could write a fic where Q cross-dresses and is insecure/embarassed over it but Bond does his best to accept it, I’d be eternally grateful! - anon

_“James_.”

A sharp puffed exhale, horrified and guilty and resigned.

Bond stood in the doorway to Q’s bedroom, watching him, blinking once. Twice. Take a breath. Release it again. Blink again.

Q was dressed in a figure-skimming green dress that complemented his eyes; it was tailored in such a way that it disguised the lack of breasts, giving the vaguest implication of something there, cut to flare slightly around the hips – another illusion – before finishing just over the knee, the hem slightly embellished with black thread, tracking up the side seam where there was a two-inch split.

Bond’s only true thought was: _jesus, those heels are high_.

Q had gone tomato-coloured. “James, I can explain…”

“It’s mostly self-explanatory,” Bond cut in, glancing up at down the dress. Q looked _beautiful_. True, the face was still masculine; while Q was perfectly clean-shaven, the features were a touch too broad, needed subtle amending which Bond didn’t doubt Q was capable of. Subtlety was Q’s forte.

Q started tugging at himself, trying to get the offending items off; he lost about a foot in height as he kicked off the heels, tugging off his tights inelegantly. “Q, calm down…”

“You think I’m a freak,” Q muttered, cried, to and at both of them. Bond sighed slightly. Alright then. This wasn’t about Bond, so much as Q’s own insecurities. That could be dealt with.

Bond shifted forward quickly, catching Q’s wrists. “Q,” he said simply. “ _Q_.”

Q looked up at him, expression that of a caged animal, defenceless and angry. “Yes?”

“It’s alright,” Bond said, in a tone that commanded Q to _listen_ , if nothing else. “It is odd, yes. It is not something I have come across frequently. There is nothing… wrong, per se. I would prefer to discuss this properly, if you would?”

Q watched him through his entrancing, ridiculously large eyes. The nod was short, sharp. Bond let him go; Q re-arranged the dress slightly, looking more comfortable on flat ground that before. “This is alright, is it?” Q snapped, confrontational.

Bond refused to rise to the tone. “Yes,” he replied flatly. Q bit his lips, stared at the floor. “Q, it’s all alright. I would prefer you happy, whichever way. Also, your tights have laddered.”

Q glanced where Bond was indicating. Swore. In tandem, they started laughing.

Bond hadn’t been lying; it would be alright.


	106. Chapter 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will you write an evil!00q or serial killers!00q or something of the sort? Please and thank you! - anon

“James, we have an issue,” Q said sharply; Bond straightened from his mark, a now-dead politician, and pressed a hand to his earpiece.

“Q?” he asked; he had met Q a long while ago, a boy with no name, just an initial, and intelligence that could cause world destruction. Bond – an MI6 rogue agent – found somebody on his level, somebody who understood the stupidity and absurdity of the status quo.

Somebody disliking what they saw, preparing to challenge it.

They were anarchists, as far as their justification went. Q organised their hits, managed their security. Bond went out, and pulled the triggers.

Thus far, over thirty people had died at their hands. They were the smallest known anarchist – terrorist – organisation in the world. Every single security organisation in the world wanted to find them, capture them; it was common knowledge that Q and Bond held information on every facet of international security. If they tried to take out either party, information could go viral.

“Bond, emergency alpha red,” Q said simply, and went offline. Bond glanced at the corpse at his feet, and disappeared.

-

They had their protocols in place for moments like this. The alpha alert was urgency, the red was danger. They had never had cause to use that protocol before.

In practise: somebody had tracked down Q. Their location was compromised, everything they were doing was compromised.

Bond removed every single item of technology on his person, throwing them into the Thames. He was able to meld into shadows. They had secure locations in case of moments like this; Bond traced his way to the nearest safe house, sliding inside and locking every door.

In the downstairs bathroom, under the sink, Bond found the paperwork that he would need if this should ever happen. He read it through quickly, preparing himself: he needed to get Q out, as quickly as possible. Q was his partner, in every sense of the word.

As long as he was in danger, Bond would keep searching for him.

-

“Where is James Bond?”

Q sighed, rolled his eyes. They had been doing this for the past twenty-four hours. He still wasn’t going to tell them where James was. Hell would freeze over, long before that happened.

“We will be forced to extract the information through other means…”

“I would strongly suggest releasing me now,” Q told them lightly. “My partner and I have a great deal of information at our disposal. He will be more than able to publicise all our your dirty secrets to the world at large – and you’ve seen my work, you know we can do it.”

They didn’t listen, naturally. Hardly surprising. It didn’t matter; Bond would be ready soon, and all of this became moot.

-

2 AM, and the door of the cell Q had been stashed in clicked open. Q stood, quickly ducked out, darting down the corridor. At the end of it, the door was obediently open; Bond had followed instructions perfectly.

He laced around the corridors towards the helpfully labelled – British government buildings were so _useful_ in that respect – exit. If matters were continuing according to plan, Bond would scream up in a stolen car in approximate thirty seconds, outside the building fire escape.

He stood outside. He waited exactly seven seconds. The car arrived.

Bond flattened the accelerator, the pair of them breaking out of MI6 in extraordinary style. Q laughed, exhilarated and alive; they were out. Bond slid him a laptop; Q opened it, typing through infinite lines of code. _Gotcha_ , he thought to himself, smirking as he made Wikileaks look tame. He had warned them.

They managed a car change, kept going, a second swap. Found a car they technically owned, one that was harder to trace. Circled in and out of London, Q scrambling signals as they went, Bond breaking every speed limit in the Western world. They found their way back to the house, entering through the small garden.

Bond pinned Q against the back of the door, kissed him with ridiculous passion. “I’m safe, James,” Q breathed against his mouth, the pair wrapped around one another. “I’m here. Thank you.”

“Jesus Q, don’t do that to me again,” Bond snapped at him, smelling of gunpowder and blood and stress. “ _Ever_.”

“Love you too,” Q snorted, and kissed him again.


	107. Chapter 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love what you did with my previous prompt, so here’s another one: people always seem to assume Q has completely won over the loyalty of his department and it’s everyone else he needs to convince of his abilities. What if it was the other way around and Q-Branch were actually rather difficult with him? Bonus points if it’s from the POV of someone outside of Q-Branch. Thank you, and keep being excellent :) - piepelow

The dynamics of Q-branch were never stable. On an hourly basis, everybody seemed to think differently about one another; it was not helped overwhelmingly by Q himself, who was the most polarising human being to ever enter the branch.

The branch was split. Half of them were utterly convinced he was God’s gift to technology. The other thought he was an upstart young bastard, who did not deserve the position by any stretch of the imagination.

M could tell that Q was struggling. They were intentionally making his life difficult; instructions had to be repeated a multitude of times, and everything Q did was checked by the branch. They didn’t trust him in the slightest.

It would require intervention, if it continued in the same vein. The Skyfall incident made matters considerably worse; the sceptics became wholly convinced that Q was basically inept.

They conveniently glossed over Q’s otherwise outstanding track record; the equipment standard was considerably better, the server firewalls were practically impenetrable, and his mission success rates exemplary.

“Q, how are you finding your branch?” M asked directly, settled in the chair opposite Q’s. Q watched him, eyes dimmed and wary. “I know they’re…”

“It’s fine,” Q interjected, voice calm. “Not ideal, admittedly, but manageable. The branch require evidence of my aptitude…”

“Surely there is more than enough of that?” M queried, with a raised eyebrow.

Q half-smiled, his attention still mostly on the screen in front of him; Q had been thus since M had first met him, a boy who lived in his computers. “They’ll learn soon enough,” Q said, very quietly, his tone somehow avoiding seeming arrogant.

M nodded, left Q to his own devices.

The stories became legendary. M procured footage, just to see whether it had actually _happened_.

Q set his branch the task of trying an external hack of the MI6 servers, within two hours; he prefixed the order with a statement that he was tired of his authority being undermined. Q-branch had over twenty employees, all of whom were masters in their field; working together, they could take down any given server.

Supposedly.

Q settled down at his computer, raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

They all started hacking, battling, challenging. Q sat placidly at the opposite end of the room, typing frenetically. Q-branch were all working in perfect unison for the first time since Q joined; they formed a united front against their leader.

An hour and a half later, Q called a stop.

It was the first time in Q-branch history that they had failed an external hack. Firewalls collapsed under Q-branch onslaughts, traditionally, MI6 included; they could bring down MI6 just as efficiently, if required.

Apparently, not when Q was defending it.

Q walked into his office, settled down. Q-branch started gossiping, a low, shocked rumble outside the room. Whether or not they liked him was inconsequential. He was extraordinary, truly excellent at his job. That was all that needed to matter, ultimately.

M smiled. Q’s appointment had certainly not been a mistake.


	108. Chapter 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you’ve done this before but I was just wondering if you could do a 00Q revenge piece? Love ya darlings! - anon

Bond cocked his gun, tapping his earpiece. “Q?”

“I’m receiving you. Go,” Q said sharply. The idea was to enter, and literally shoot every person in the building. Bond had his instructions – preferably clean kills, and no loose ends.

They had taken Tanner.

Tanner was the most unassuming member of MI6 staff, more so even than Q. Q wore his intelligence as a badge of honour and esteem; Tanner’s was understated and necessary. He knew everything and everyone, could map out MI6 interpersonal relationships without effort. Chief of Staff meant a great deal; Tanner could be relied upon for who trusted whom, whether people could be depended upon.

Everybody adored Tanner, despite protesting otherwise. He was quiet and invaluable. The extraction team had picked up him after a handful of days, extremely battered, very traumatised.

Bond and Q – who were both dating, and in agreement that nobody touched Tanner – set up their own revenge. In simple terms, they were going to take out the group that took Tanner altogether.

Q listened impassively to fourteen silenced gunshots, the compressed _pop_ loud in his ear. This cell unit was to be eliminated; the rest of the organisation would tick along, but they would think again before taking anybody like Tanner.

“Complete,” Bond answered shortly.

“Good. Now get out of there, hiding this from M will be hell enough as it is,” Q replied, his tone utterly businesslike. Bond tapped through a confirmation, Q listening to the sounds of him running over the earpiece. “James, did we do the right thing?”

“You choose the existential crisis _right now_?!” Bond exclaimed, concentrating most of his energies into running, while Q covered the traces.

“We just killed fourteen people.”

“Yes, Q, I just pulled the bloody trigger,” Bond snapped back. “We did the right thing. This is a warning to a larger global network, its _fine_.”

Q nodded to himself, before voicing an agreement. Of course it was fine. It _had_ to be fine.

Fourteen.

The number plagued him for months.


	109. Chapter 109

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt idea after rewatching Skyfall: Q shoves his feelings back untill after the events of the film. Cue enough doubt, self blame, low confidence and more than a few unshed tears. I would love to have Bond be the one who finds him and gives him back his confidence and remind him its ok to cry.Hopefully all that made sense and loving the writing! - anon

Bond was beginning to get concerned about his Quartermaster.

Q was an extraordinary Quartermaster, yes. The work coming out of Q-branch was exemplary, missions were coming off beautifully, everything ostensibly seemed nigh on perfect.

Yet if Bond knew anything, he knew people. He knew those who were barely holding a lid over their stress, their fear. He could read the tiny, close to imperceptible movements that told endless stories of somebody falling to pieces, unnoticed.

“Q?” he asked; the younger man looked up, the briefest flash of pain, doubt, fear playing across his boyish features. “Coffee?”

Q managed a manufactured smile, and nodded. Bond dipped his head in appreciation, trying to encourage a more genuine expression. Q didn’t oblige. Bond held out until they met later, Q cradling a mug of tea, Bond swilling a rather unexpected hot chocolate. Q had raised an eyebrow, Bond just shrugged. There was no reason why not.

“So. How’s work?” Bond asked lightly; Q looked at him, blinked. Spewed out some half-baked murmur about everything being fine, enjoyable but busy, Q toeing the party line, transparently lying. “And now the truth?” Bond suggested lightly.

“I’m fine,” Q insisted; it was becoming less convincing, however, with every passing syllable. Bond watching him, expression merciless.

“You’re not fine, and I want to know why,” he said slowly, clearly. Q burrowed further into himself, the tea an odd lifeline, keeping him tethered.

“… It’s just difficult, really,” Q murmured, and Bond took a breath; finally, Q was prepared to tell the truth.

Bond sat there for almost an hour, and listened. Coaxed at the right moments, teased out Q’s story; the guilt over Silva hacking MI6 was prevalent, had shaken his confidence in his abilities, and caused crippling guilt. Bond suddenly realised that Q honestly believed it was _his fault_ that M had died.

“MI6 don’t suffer idiots,” Bond noted quietly. “Q, if you weren’t good at your job, they would have fired you without hesitation.”

Q’s gaze was tired, sad. “I should have been better,” he murmured to himself, the tea long-gone, but still clutching the mug. “It was moronic…”

“It was a mistake,” Bond corrected. “Happens to all. You’re going to be far worse for MI6 if you’re crippled with guilt, than if you make intermittent mistakes. If you continue believing this, you’ll burn out. I’ve done it before. To be quite honest, I’d prefer intermittent mistakes, than losing you altogether.”

“I won’t be ‘lost’,” Q retorted without venom, unimpressed at Bond’s latent hyperbole. “I’m finding matters difficult, yes, but it is hardly catastrophic…”

“Give it time,” Bond commented drily. “I’m asking you to remain safe, Q.”

“ _Why_? Why does it _matter_?” Q randomly asked, shooting quick, surreptitious glances at Bond.

Bond just raised an eyebrow. “Because,” he said quietly, and refused to elaborate further.


	110. Chapter 110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I check everyday for more of your awesome fics. I’ve seen so many Rogue!Q fics but never any Rogue!Bond ones. Could you do something like that and have Bond seducing Q to the dark side? Could be total AU or maybe Bond decides he’s had enough after M gave the “take the bloody shot” order, it’s up to you. - runemarks

Q was exhausted. MI6 was demanding enough at the best of times; with their best double-oh gone rogue, Q was left needing snookers in terms of the sheer volume of work he was juggling.

Tracking down Bond remained nigh-on impossible. To be quite honest, Q had to admit he didn’t particularly _want_ to track down Bond; James was a law unto himself, and while he was causing damage, nobody was dead yet. Q could think of many more priorities.

When he saw that somebody had entered his flat, attempting to be subtle about it, he sighed. Bond might as well have left a card. Q traipsed up the stairs to his flat, letting himself into the MI6 sanctioned, spacious flat he called home.

Bond waited by the window, hands in his pockets, looking as well turned-out as Q had ever seen him. “What are you doing here?” Q asked quietly. He didn’t call MI6. He also decided to not examine his motives for not calling MI6.

“You want to know why,” Bond stated, his voice oddly rough. Q watched him expressionlessly, nodded once. “It’s freedom, Q,” he said carefully. “I can do what I have always done, without the bureaucracy, without my life at the whim of somebody else. I took down the Iha group, on my own.”

Q raised an eyebrow. He’d been wondering himself what had happened to Iha, a collection of small-scale terrorists who had some good ideas, and more lethally, good contacts.

Bond took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. “MI6 have their own agenda,” he said quietly. “It gets tiring, your life being held hostage over somebody else’s agenda. You don’t matter. You are only worth what they can get out of you, before you die.”

“James. Why are you here?” Q repeated softly, James only inches from his, blue eyes glinting in the lights.

Q already knew what Bond would say: “Come with me.”

A rush of oxygen, clarity. Q had never been loyal to Queen and Country; his loyalties lay with his work, and it mattered very little who employed him, so long as he could continue being challenged, never reach atrophying boredom.

MI6 could get rather repetitive, after all.

He didn’t need to speak. Bond just took his hand, the warmth, the contact, startling and immediate. “Let’s go,” Bond told him, voice playing with implication, Q’s heart rushing adrenaline, so immediate and perfect and _alive_.

He closed his fingers around Bond’s, and they ran.


	111. Chapter 111

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a prompt I would love you to fill. Bond thinks it is time to tell Q about his abusive father and how it changed him to be a better man in the future (helping people, doing good for the greater cause etc) in hope it would help Q get over his abusive boyfriend. and in the end they get together or not you chose!!! PLEASE???? - anon

Bond was very aware of why Q refused to go out with him, and it had nothing to do with Bond himself. Which was not arrogance speaking, but absolute fact; Q had already conceded that he was attracted to Bond. He just refused, point blank, to date.

“Just coffee, as friends,” Bond said lightly, as he slid a chamomile tea over; Q liked to start the day on Earl Grey, but when it was this time of night, rather liked a cup of chamomile to reduce the inevitable stress levels of the day.

Bond was settled with a double espresso, with no qualms. He liked the rush of energy that came with it. “I’m going home soon,” Q said absent-mindedly, lying through his teeth; he had planning an all-night stint, given the amount of work he had to do. Bond smirked, ignoring Q altogether.

“So Q,” Bond began; Q looked politely wary, as Bond leaned forward, wincing at the bitterness of his coffee. “I happened to come across your file…”

Q’s expression darkened. “You bastard,” he said dispassionately. “That was none of your…”

“I was merely going to comment on the Cambridge degree, but we can reference the boyfriend who hospitalised you twice if you like,” Bond noted drily. Q flushed fiercely, pointedly ignoring the tea.

“You can go now, Bond…”

“I know,” Bond interrupted, his voice oddly gentle. “Just… hear me out. You’ve doubtless seen my files too…”

“Please don’t tell me you’re about to try to be supportive by virtue of a vaguely similar experience?” Q asked edgily. “Bond, it is none of your business…”

“Quiet, Q, I’m talking about me,” Bond pointed out, with an annoyingly charming smile. “Psych hate me, so I’m going to talk to you instead.”

“God help me.”

“Just consider for a moment – I joined MI6. After my experiences with my father, there is a societal expectation that I would be traumatised, unwilling to witness violence, et cetera. I work as a double-oh agent, taking out people like my father was. Ask yourself why.”

Q was very quiet. The thought had crossed his mind. An angry, damaged teen, fostered by MI6 and raised to be a _double-oh_ agent; it was impressive, to say the least. Bond was far from beaten; he had made himself into something of his own, redefined himself.

“Just thought I should mention,” Bond murmured, Q’s silence absolute. He nodded slightly. Bond stood to go. “Don’t work too hard.”

Q managed a small smile, and nodded again; his face crumpled, as though battling with himself on some front Bond couldn’t see. “I… Bond, would you like to go out sometime?”

Bond restrained his joy with difficulty, keeping calm for Q’s benefit. “Very much. Dinner?”

“Tomorrow, if you want,” Q said, looking shockingly vulnerable. Bond didn’t make much of it, just nodded, his usual, ridiculously suave smile in place. “Thank you, James.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Bond told him. He could feel Q’s eyes on him as he walked away.


	112. Chapter 112

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m the person that asked for a horror fic before :) I was thinking something with elements from the ring, what with Q being surrounded by technology at every moment of the day. Or something like an object Bond brings back from a mission on a whim winds up being sentient, and very much malevolent. I’m happy with anything really. I’m just excited to see your take on the genre :) - anon

The hard drive arrived in an padded envelope, simply marked _Q_. It had been scanned for anything dangerous; Q placed a finger under the flap, slitting it open, pouring the hard disk into the palm of his hand.

His breath caught slightly.

The intricate detailing, patterned across the length of something that looked very much like a hard drive. There was no note, no other marking. Somebody had sent him a puzzle.

It was _beautiful_.

Q had never been able to resist a puzzle.

The device became Q’s Everest. He was spending every second of his life on it, every waking moment, obsessed with it for reasons he couldn’t quite work out, his head thrumming, seeing the thing behind his eyes every second, hallucinating the damn thing when he fell asleep.

“Q, you need to _sleep_ ,” Bond told him, visibly worried in a way only Q could really recognise. Q stared at him through bloodshot eyes, his skin worryingly grey, trembling slightly.

He shook his head slowly, eyes a little too wide. “I need to solve it,” he rasped, tense in a way that was frightening to witness. “James, I _have to_.”

Bond watched him for a long moment. There was something wrong, something amiss, and he couldn’t quite work out what it was. Something in Q’s posture, in the line of his mouth, the disconcerting tension _everywhere_ about him. “Q, are you alright?” Bond asked gently, a hand over Q’s.

Q’s eyes were huge, mournful. “I’m scared,” he whispered, looking openly, entirely terrified. Bond felt panic pool in his stomach; as he watched, Q’s expression shuttered again. He wrenched his hand back with a hiss, suddenly angular.

“Q…”

“Away from me,” Q hissed, teeth slightly bared. Bond stayed back, wary, levelling off the mounting discomfort that lived under his sternum, clawing for release. “I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

“Just…”

 _“Get out_ ,” Q snarled; Bond didn’t see that he had an option, with Q in this state. He did so.

-

The headaches were like buzzing, somewhere at the back of his skull. It never left, now, just continued to go round and round and round, buzzing, insistent, repetitive and painful in its constancy, refusing to go, refusing to leave him alone.

 He stared at swirls of hypnotic patterning. He didn’t know why he wanted to get into the thing, but he did, he _had_ to, the thought of not managing it making him whimper in panic, fingers trailing over it, picking at it, at himself, until his fingers were bleeding, broken fingernails stabbing uncomfortably, ripping skin.

Bond watched, helpless. He couldn’t break Q’s fixation, and there was something wrong, _something_ horribly wrong; Q’s obsession was new, this kind of degree was new, so much panic and frenzied hysteria, losing himself quite transparently.

Q threw up from exhaustion, thin bile, too yellow. “Q, you have to stop,” Bond told him, trying to cover the mounting terror.

“I know,” Q replied, washing his mouth out, eye sockets black and hollow. “But I can’t, and I won’t.”

-

Bond tried to get rid of the thing. He lifted it from Q-branch, got it away; he was a moment from throwing it in the Thames, when the palm of his hand was seared, the patterns scarred into him. With a yell of pain, Bond dropped it.

He left it where it was, his hand _burning_.

He saw Q with it the next day, and decided something more drastic needed to be done.

-

The internet searching was relatively fruitful. There were stories, descriptions. No pictures.

_Headaches, nausea, vomiting, obsessive behaviours, abdominal pain, bruising, nosebleeds, internal bleeding, death…_

Bond couldn’t breathe. What in the _fuck_ had Q gotten himself into?

-

Bond could hear odd, disjointed sobbing. He pushed open the door, seeing Q curled up in a ball, blood spattering his sleeve, Q himself half-foetal. “Q, I know how to get rid of it.”

“I don’t _want_ to get rid of it,” Q whispered brokenly. “Bond, I _can’t_. If I lose it, I’ll lose me.”

Bond hoisted Q up by the collar, shaking him. Q’s body screamed between impossible tension, and suddenly ragdoll, boneless. “You need to send it on. Send it somewhere, _anywhere_.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered, eyes darting towards it, reflecting constant patterns, the patterns on it, seared into Bond’s palm, tattooed against Bond’s brain, constantly thrumming. “Let _go of me_.”

Q, in a surge of bizarre strength, managed to throw Bond bodily off him, hissing vaguely; Bond spotted a thin stream of blood trickling from his left nostril. He would not watch Q die, he simply wouldn’t.

He started firing shots into the device. “ _No_ ,” Q screamed, diving towards it; Bond gasped, as Q shrieked, blood blossoming out of his shirt sleeve, while Bond’s burn started to come alight. Bond dropped the gun to clasp his hand, while Q ignored his injuries to dive for the thing.

“ _Q_ , listen to me. If we send it off, find a new recipient, we can get free, it’ll go,” Bond yelled at him, Q sobbing as his body wrapped around the device, and Bond could almost-see patterning over Q’s exposed skin. “I will _not watch you die_.”

Q-branch had all hit their panic buttons in unison at the gunshot. There would be MI6 units falling onto them in minutes. “Q, send it. You have to. Find something, somewhere, send it on,” Bond burbled at him, as Q let out a feral, desperate howl, and a team attacked, all at once.

They subdued him, as a medical team swam around Q. Bond fell into unconsciousness as Q stared at him, watched him, eyes wide and filled with lines, lacing through him, everywhere, each vein pulsing blue and green, his body consumed by them.

 _Please Q_ , he mumbled again, and passed out.

-

The envelope was postmarked from halfway around the world, somewhere in the UK, a handwritten address. The young woman slid open the envelope, letting the beautiful little thing fall into her palm.

She gasped with shock, as her palm was stained with blood, the intricate swirls coated in a thin, dark sheen.

No note, no marks. Just this.

It was so _beautiful_.


	113. Chapter 113

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever just get a craving for tragedy? Cause I’ve got a sudden, intense craving for some tragedy. Can you write something where either Bond or Q are mortally wounded because of a direct decision the other made? I am the epitome of masochism. Let out all the pent up angst you’ve got, I can take it. (I am so going to regret this later when the craving has passed and been replaced by uncontrollable sobbing) - virtualoutcast

_Oh please god no_.

“Bond, get out, get _out of there_ ,” Q yelled, panic turning his voice kaleidoscopic. “Shit, _shit_ , James, fucking… _007_ , right now, _please_.”

R, behind him, placed a soft hand on Q’s shoulder. Q shrugged it off, almost in tears. “What happened?“I told him to go in,” Q cried, gesturing at the screen, trying to find any more CCTV, imaging, _anything_. “I thought it was clear, and I’ve just found new intel and _jesus_ , Bond’s in there, and we can’t get him out, I deliberately ordered the recon teams back so we could have a lower profile…”

Bond still wasn’t responding, despite Q’s insistent bleating in his ear; Q could see the infrared monitoring, telling him Bond was moving, he was hearing, if not responding..

Q heard a soft _fuck_ in his ear, and called out to the voice, to his James. There was the impossible music of gunfire, slicing through Q’s immediate thoughts. _“James_ ,” Q screamed, aware that he was making an exhibition of himself in full view of the rest of his branch.

Bond’s life signals went offline.

Q, oddly, felt all of the hysteria drain away from him in the oddest of moments. Like somebody had burst a balloon, letting the tension fall slack, empty. He took a moment, breathing harshly, before composing himself; his voice was steady as he continued.

“I want full scans of the building. Recon team to take out the assailants if we can, we need a risk assessment and deployment within the next half-hour.”

“007?

“When recon enter, they will retrieve the body,” Q said, his voice cracking, very slightly. He ignored the blur in his vision, his breathing unsteady and tremulous. “I… a mission report will need drafting. I will return in fifteen minutes to assess progress, I want tangible developments.”

R nodded, oddly frozen. Everybody was. They all knew. Q knew. They watched Q walk straight-backed to his office, shutting the door.

They didn’t watch him collapse forward, and start to brokenly scream.


	114. Chapter 114

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you are ever in Aussie land, I will invite you over for cookies, Jaffa cake and lamingtons. Just watch out for the drop bears =D Had a really rough day with my class of 5 year olds *tears out hair and cries, just a bit*, is there any way i could get fluffy Q, or irrationally angry over something small that makes Bond laugh Q, or comfort after Q gets a mission/information wrong. My soul needs it. That, or More of your amazing Art story =) *holds out yummy pavlova* You know you want it! - placeofold

Q cried, very softly. No hysteria, no drama. Just a soft, horrible sadness that was agonising to witness.

Bond could not help. He could merely watch, love him, and hope that was enough. Three agents had died. Q hadn’t quite been able to stop it. If he had been a little faster, a little more accurate, a little more thorough, they would have survived.

He hadn’t been. Q was now writing a report explaining that three good agents had been killed on his mission, and he had let them die, hadn’t stopped it, had listened to the cascading gunfire extinguish the lives of three men who deserved so much better.

Bond let Q cry, let the younger man curl onto his lap, and cry in absolute silence. Bond sighed, running fingers through Q’s hair, stroking him gently.

“I should have done more,” Q murmured, after a while, when the tears had stopped. The TV played on, unnoticed, telling stories that were not theirs. “I could have prevented all this.”

“You can’t save everyone,” Bond sighed back; he knew that, all too well. No matter how vigilant, how thorough; it was never possible to keep everybody safe, and alive. The balls dropped eventually. Even after years of practise, Bond still watched them topple away from him once in a while.

“I just…” Q murmured, eyes half-closing. “I wish I’d been able to do something. I wish. I wish a lot of thing, actually.”

Bond couldn’t help the light smile. “Well yes, doesn’t everybody?” he asked kindly, letting Q burrow closer into his stomach, head sheltered, tears in damp patches on Bond’s thighs. “You aren’t superhuman.”

“I want to be,” Q said, with the petulancy of a child, and the breathtaking gravity of an adult seeking escape from a world he didn’t want to deal with.

Bond kissed the top of his head uncomfortably, contorting himself around with difficult. Q smiled faintly at the contact.

“You’re close,” Bond told, still stroking his hair. “You just need the cape, I think. We can probably find you a cape.”

“ _No capes_ ,” Q said abruptly, in an imitation of The Incredibles – a film that, naturally, Bond had barely heard of, let alone seen. “They get caught in everything, bad plan.”

“Okay. Lycra underwear?”

“In your dreams,” Q snorted, and with Bond – _just_ with Bond – let himself laugh.


	115. Chapter 115

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi can you write something about q being vague about his feelings for bond. and then silva started hitting on bond (make it juicy), bond entertains the attention since that’s part of his job. and then bond notices that q is acting all weird and moody. and later q admits that he’s jealous. angst, or whatever magic you end up writing! i love your work <3 - anon

Silva’s ‘return to life’ had a number of serious downside. None more so than his unwarranted obsession with Bond, as far as Q was concerned. M, however, was adamant that they needed an insider to speak to Silva, to divine his current game plan; MI6 contacted Silva, left them on an equal footing, allowing 007 and Silva to meet on neutral territory.

Q watched with guarded anticipation, hooked to every facet of Bond’s anatomy. Nothing would go wrong. This was a casual meet, a conversation, nothing more. Nobody’s safety should be compromised; it was intended to be a simple, easy operation.

It was going beautifully, until Q noticed the foot. Silva’s foot. Working its way up Bond’s leg.

Silva spent his life speaking in complex innuendoes; listening to his flirtations was unpleasant – for reasons Q couldn’t discern – but far from damaging. Watching Silva’s leg stroke Bond’s, however, made Q’s blood simmer very faintly.

It turned into an all-out rolling boil when Bond reached forward, fingers brushing Silva’s, returning every flirtation in kind. Q flushed, lividly angry with himself, and Bond, and the entire bloody situation.

Bond was lauded for his handling of the situation, given the background with Silva, and the information gleaned.

Q didn’t speak to him for two days.

-

“Q, are you alright?”

Q shot Bond a snapping, anxious, odd look. Bond just sighed; his Quartermaster had been acting… _oddly_ , for a while now. He could hardly fail to notice his mood correlated directly with the Silva negotiations; Bond met the man once or twice a week, put up with his sleazy flirting and come-ons, in the hope of extracting information.

The expression Bond received was sharp, merciless. “I’m fine,” Q told him curtly, not looking at James.

Bond didn’t believe him, but Q wasn’t saying a word. Bond left, despite himself, prepared to imminently return.

-

“Bond, are you _really_ not understanding this?!” Q asked, in utter exasperation; Bond had been putting up with Silva’s quite overwhelming advances for days, Silva beginning to grow quite oppressive.

Bond went to Q-branch because of Q. He wanted to see Q, be around Q; Silva was making his intentions apparent, and Bond thoroughly disliked it. He needed Q, and he wanted Q, more than anything he had ever needed in his life.

Q just sat watching him, utterly placid.

-

It took another few hours of coaxing: “ _Jesus_ , Bond, can’t you work out that I’m bloody _jealous_ of watching you constantly flirt with _somebody else?_ Are you really so blind that…”

Whatever Q’s insult was, was lost, as Bond kissed him with bruising tenderness. Q gasped for air, perfectly reciprocating, lost in him. “That’s not fair,” he rasped.

“Is it ever?” Bond asked rhetorically, and kissed away all thought of Silva, or even MI6; it was just them, in that moment, and it was _perfect_.


	116. Chapter 116

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey I really love your posts they’re amazing :)…. Please could you write one where Bond keeps calling Q different pet names.. At work he pretends to hat it but really doesn’t! Lots of fluff pleeaaseee xx - anon

“Love, can you…”

Q’s ears went very slightly pink. Since he and Bond had started their relationship, he had began seeing a rather different side to James; rather than the angular dispassion he treated the rest of the world to, he managed to cultivate a rather tender, empathetic side of him.

Manifested, of course, in various terms of endearment.

“Sweetheart…” (An average go-to as far as endearments went; Q didn’t mind it much).

“Darling…” (Q’s favourite, although he wouldn’t admit to that at gunpoint).

“Gorgeous…” (nice for the ego, also the only person who’d _ever_ called Q gorgeous, term of endearment or not).

“Sugar…” (Q’s least favourite. He was not something to be stirred into tea. He vocalised that quite strongly. Bond ignored him).

His branch were, to their credit, very good about it when they overheard. It was helped by what had happened to the single unfortunate Q had caught sniggered; on quiet days, she still could be heard to sob gently over the wreckage of her laptop.

Q consistently told Bond that it was unprofessional, and that he shouldn’t call him names like that in work. Bond smiled, kissed him lightly. “My darling Q, I have no intention of stopping,” he said, very simply.

It was the loveliest thing anybody had ever ignored him on. Bond seemed to understand that no matter how much he protested otherwise, he would be quietly devastated if Bond ever stopped. So Bond called him every sweet name under the sun – except ‘cutie pie’, which was eliminated on grounds of poor taste and poorer punning – and Q told him off.

“I know, my love,” Bond would sigh afterwards, leaving Q grinning, exasperated.


	117. Chapter 117

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a request! So, I’ve reread Remember Me a couple times now and, frankly, I need something fluffy. Can I get a companion piece to the pet name fic from yesterday? Something where Q does something (or several things) that scream domestic. Bond acts horrified, but like Q’s feelings towards the nicknames, he secretly loves it. Brings normalcy to his life. :) Thanks love! – stephrc79

“Excellent, that’s a wrap on the mission. James, could you pick up some milk and decent Earl Grey? No Tetley’s, that stuff is _not_ real tea,” Q said lightly, typing up the final stages of the mission report with blinding speed.

Bond, on the other end of the line: “You’re asking me this _right now_?” he hissed, the subtext obvious: _I’m a goddamn secret agent, and you are asking me to pick up milk in front of our co-workers._

“Yes, James. I am,” Q replied casually. _And I’m your boyfriend, I need tea, and I really do not care what our co-workers think_.

Bond muttered a series of expletives, and agreed. Q smiled slightly as he sent the email off to M. “I’ll see you at home,” Q said by way off a signoff, a casual kind of intimacy that Bond was truly unaccustomed to.

“… yes,” Bond agreed, letting Q off; he was actually rather fond of having their flat as ‘home’. It was a novel feeling, to have a fixed, tangible place to come back to time after time. His old flat had not been a home, it had been a location. A space. With Q, he began to understand what it meant to _miss_ being home.

When he finally arrived, Q was waiting for him; Bond leaned down over the edge of the sofa, kissed him, Q sprawled over the sofa like a teenager with a laptop, holding Bond in place by the collar when they kissed. “There’s wine in the fridge,” he told Bond absentmindedly. “Could you put the oven on to 180?”

It was the casualness of it. There was a little part of Bond – a part he tried to ignore – that found it all a little frightening. Somebody knowing him enough to choose the right type of wine, have a lasagne already waiting in the oven for him to get home, have recorded a programme on street fighting styles in Brazil for him.

“ _Fuck_ , I don’t have a shirt,” Bond said aloud, as he changed, dumping the old one in the washing basket inside the door of the bathroom.

“I did the washing,” Q called brightly from the living room, typing frenetically into the laptop as he spoke. “I even ironed them, although I’m not making any promises as to the quality of said ironing.”

Bond opened the cupboard, blinked. Sure enough, a line of (sort-of) ironed shirts. Clearly, he had got married, and nobody had thought to tell him.

“You’re welcome,” Q teased, glancing up at Bond over the top of the laptop as he sunk heavily into the far corner, not nearly as upset as he was acting.

He didn’t say a word, and Q didn’t need him to. He just caught Q’s eye – Q’s feet resting in Bond’s lap, the smell of cooking meat filling their flat, their _home_ – and smiled.


	118. Chapter 118

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It boggles me how you stay so modest in the face of all the praise you receive. (And well earned praise indeed!) So here’s a prompt: either Q or James doesn’t know how to take a compliment and ends up being very “ok… Thanks” or blushing and like “I have no idea why you’re telling me this! It’s my job.” - concussedparanoia

“You do realise this is one of the most _extraordinary_ things to come out of Q-branch in the last decade…”

Q hated his capillaries. The moment the slightest tinge of embarrassment hit, he went the colour of a constipated tomato. Thus, when faced with a compliment of any magnitude, he practically _glowed_.

“I, erm… thank you,” he spluttered, escaping as fast as he was physically able, while M tried not to laugh. Q was superbly fun to give compliments to, given the supreme levels of awkwardness involved.

Bond, meanwhile, was precisely the opposite. M called him into the office for his latest debrief, remarking on his truly excellent handling of the entire mission.

“Yes, I should hope so – it is what I’m paid to do,” Bond said drily, with an odd smile. Really, the man was _impossibly_ suave. No human being should be that suave, it was frankly unhealthy.

Bond had never been able to accept a compliment for what it was; he minimised every attempt to bolster his ego, probably wisely. In most people, that would be _unbelievably_ irritating; quite inexplicably, Bond was able to get away with it.

It was somewhat inevitable that the two would discover their mutual inability to handle compliments. Ultimately, it ended up being what sparked their later relationship – they found something bizarre in common, and conversation went from there.

“Your trackers are actually dependable, Q, nicely done,” Bond told him, a far cry from M’s earlier effusive compliments; nonetheless, it was from James Bond. A _real_ compliment, from James Bond.

Q could feel his _toes_ blushing. God _damn it_.

“That as may be, your thinking when cornered was instrumental in your retrieval,” Q told him, voice calm, face burning.

Bond’s eyebrow crooked. “I followed procedure.”

“You could say ‘thank you’,” Q noted; Bond looked mildly affronted. Nobody ever called him out on his refusal to accept compliments, they simply didn’t, and yet here Q was, impervious to his usual charm, the flush receding hilariously slowly.

“Says the one deflecting praise onto me, while turning puce.”

Q looked distinctly unimpressed. He really _wasn’t_ falling for the usual act. How _interesting_. “Out, Bond.”

“Speak soon, Q,” Bond replied lightly, and left Q’s office.


	119. Chapter 119

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt : Q is in the hospital ( sick or injured ). Bond trying to comfort him so… he takes Q’s cat to the hospital. hurt/comfoer/fluff Yeach, thank you <3 - shipimpala

“I hate everything,” Q muttered. “This is _ridiculous_. I don’t want to be here, I don’t _need_ to be here, there is no _reason_ …”

“Q, half the MI6 building exploded. You’ve have serious burns over your legs, a broken pelvis, dislocated shoulder, and extensive bruising.”

Q’s lip twitched in a light growl. “Well, yes. Apart than that.”

-

Q was on enough morphine to make absolutely everything seem perfectly numb. He didn’t like pain, and didn’t deal with it well. So whenever anything so much as _twinged_ , he hit the button for more.

As a result, he was mostly pain-free, very drugged, very bored, and very worried that they would start weaning him off the morphine before long. He really, _really_ didn’t like pain. He had passed out in microseconds, after the explosion – his body registered pain, and his brain had _quite_ enough of that.

Bond wanted to make Q happy. So, he used his initiative.

“R?!” Q said, in drugged shock. “Bond, am I hallucinating my cat?”

“No,” Bond replied lightly; he had managed to smuggle the thing through MI6-level security in the hospital lobby, all in the aim of cheering up Q. “She’s not happy with me.”

“She’s a cat, hates cages,” Q said instantly. “Oh _baby_ , come here…” he crooned, as Bond opened the door.

There were wires everywhere, Q’s body was a battleground. R managed to pick her way over the wires, and settled directly in the middle of Q’s chest, the largest space on his body that was uninjured.

Bond considered being offended that he was being superseded by a cat. He wasn’t convinced it mattered.

“Thank you,” Q said to James with a wide smile, stroking a contented R, quite transparently happy to be reunited with the mangy thing. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond replied quite honestly, and waited for the shouting match that would ensue when medical staff found a live animal in a hospital room.


	120. Chapter 120

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So first of all, I love your writing, I think it’s phenomenal!i have a promt but you don’t have to do if your busy or you’ve done it before(if that’s the case, sorry) but Q gets the 007 logo tattooed on his lower back and Bond sees a bit of it, so he tries his hardest to see it fully like putting Q’s mug on the highest shelf and stuff. But I really love your writing and thanks :) (That did make sense, right?) - amajid1001

Q had a tattoo. Bond really, _really_ wanted to see it. Q was refusing to show him.

Bond, quite stubbornly, did everything in his power to see it. It was oddly recognisable, in a teasing type of way, and he desperately wanted to prove his hunch correct. Q kept it covered; they had progressed in their relationship to quite intense kissing and semi-foreplay, but hadn’t quite yet reached sex. If they were having sex, this would have been _so_ much simpler.

That was one point Bond was not prepared to press, so he didn’t. Instead, he started trying to yank at Q’s shirt when the boy least expected it.

He didn’t anticipate that Q expected the unexpected, and had awe-inspiring reflexes to go with it. Bond came anywhere near his lower back, and Q mysteriously ended up a few feet in front of him, front facing, looking utterly unimpressed.

“It’s just not that interesting,” he said shortly, and walked away. Bond’s eyes narrowed. Plan B.

He started moving everything to higher shelves. Q had to reach up for them; Bond hung around, hoping to get a proper look at the tantalising tattoo.

Q took to tucking his shirt in. Not the most attractive look, and stopped Bond rather effectively. _Damn_.

Bond moved everything back again.

Bond never quite let it go, but he allowed it to sink to the back of his head for a little while. He didn’t want to pressure Q into sex simply to see the tattoo. It was highly tempting, but just a little too childish overall.

When, a few weeks later, they fell into bed, Bond promptly forgot absolutely everything about the bloody tattoo. It didn’t matter. He’d been waiting for this moment with Q for what felt like most of his lifetime; finally having Q was utterly distracting in its glory.

The next morning, he found it.

He stared at the tattoo. Blinked.

 _007_. With an accompanying gun. Really, quite a proficient little logoed design, and _his call sign_. Q had _tattooed_ Bond’s call sign into his back. The little bastard had taunted Bond for _weeks_ about being overly romantic, and yet he’d done _this_.

Bond placed a kiss square in the centre of it. Q’s body shuddered delectably as he surfaced from sleep, and Bond kissed him again like he’d never let the mad, beautiful, brilliant young man go.


	121. Chapter 121

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m a big fan of your writing! I can write 10 pages essay describing how wonderful you are Jen :) Cause I just finish my final exam so it would make my day if I can have 00Q paperman!AU You should watch it if you haven’t seen it yet! It’s a disney short animation that win oscar this year. It doesn’t have to follow the entire story but I just want the main theme. You can make it as AU or still in MI6 or anything you want! Thank youuu~ happyaria

The piece of paper flew into Q’s face; he gave a slight yelp, the cardboard cup of tea he was cradling staining it. Of course, sod’s law dictated that another rush of air dislodged a piece of paper from the sheaf _he_ was carrying. He cursed quietly to himself, trying to run after it without spilling any more tea, the tea-stained paper now staining his _own_ work.

He nearly collided straight into the man running the opposite direction.

The man was beautiful. Blonde, muscular, strong, poised. Q’s eyes widened faintly. The man plucked the tea-stained paper from Q’s grip, smirking. He tugged out a handkerchief, dabbed at the thing slightly, folding it, put it back in his pocket. Q noticed the word _classified_ in the top corner.

They watched one another for the briefest of seconds.

The other man suddenly looked up sharply, expression turning cold. “Must run,” he said briefly, a hand reaching behind him and under his jacket, as though to pull something out. Before Q could manage another word, the man had gone.

-

Q hated his job; it was boring, monotonous. He took whatever chances he could to escape; today, during his lunch, he settled himself around the train station, telling himself the location had nothing to do with the beautiful man with the bright blue eyes.

He still had the papers from that morning, ruined and smudged; he settled himself in a café, making brown-edged paper aeroplanes, fingers tracing the pattern of the now-dry stains.

He got bored after a while, ambling around aimlessly, keeping his hands busy in the construction of a perfect paper aeroplane. He wasn’t quite making them right; the trajectory would be wrong if they were real planes, they would be wonky, sending the plane spiralling to the ground. Q tried not to shudder at the thought. Planes toppling from the sky.

London was an easy place to lose himself in; he found himself leaving the prototype planes resting on walls, on closed bin lids, on benches. He couldn’t quite bear to throw them away, each oddly weighted, smelling familiar and reminding him. It was absurd. It was only paper.

Q subconsciously left a trail around London streets. He returned to work feeling oddly melancholy.

-

Q disappeared halfway through the afternoon for a fifteen minute break, fetching himself more coffee. When he returned, he settled down at his desk amongst the dozens of identical cubicles, and gasped.

In the centre of the table was a tea-stained paper aeroplane. Q could just see the word _classified_ in the top corner.

He looked around, hoping to catch just a glimpse, wondering if he had gone entirely mad. It was possible, after all. He examined the thing closer, unfolding the edges, seeing a dark-penned scrawl across the white parts of it.

  _Drinks? Write your reply here._

Q’s smile was oxygenated, almost dizzying in intensity. He scrawled the address of a pub, and when he got off work, signing his usual initial at the bottom; he glanced around again, as though expecting the man to appear, when of course, he wouldn’t.

Q looked to the window of the office, eyes half-wide, wondering if this would work, if this was even possible. He opened it with one hand, aeroplane weighed in the other, and shot it out the window, letting it spiral into the sky, finding its course.

-

The man was there when Q arrived. Bright blue eyes, blonde hair, perfect suit, a smile that could devastate worlds.

“My name’s Bond. James Bond,” the beautiful man told him, extending a hand. Q took it, shaking it, feeling oddly shy.

“Q.”


	122. Chapter 122

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi it’s drelfina from AO3. So I saw a prompt on the 007kinkmeme, and I hope you might be ableto fill something like it - in a slightly more conventional alpha-omega universe, omegas are the property of alphas (maybe historical? non-pack like) and once knotted they are bonded. What if James was arranged to bond/knot with someone, but he sees Silva’s intended bondmate - Q, and frankly steals him? :D?.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit nsfw towards the end...

During the Skyfall incident, Silva caused chaos around much of British, even spanning into further parts of the world. Bond had chased him around half the globe, trying to prevent the inevitable.

Q – named, by Silva, to mock the MI6 Quartermaster – was very nearly missed altogether. The island Silva controlled had infinite buildings; MI6 only found Q on a thorough trawl of every part of the island, the young man blinking in the bright sunlight.

He was being conditioned to become Silva’s Omega, that much was apparent; a boy waiting to come of age, ready to be bonded with, naturally adept and further trained in skills that Silva would find useful. He was the perfect protégée, with a fine-boned, extraordinary beauty that Silva, as an Alpha, would find irresistible.

Omegas came of age at twenty-one. When MI6 found him, Q was exactly seven days shy of his twenty-first birthday.

Bond was due to claim a young Omega, designated by MI6 as a non-threat, with combat training, somebody to compliment Bond’s skills. It was an occasional but acceptable practise, to designate Omegas; Bond didn’t care tremendously, had been avoiding bonding for years, keeping to Beta relationships.

He found Q in the MI6 holding cells, waiting for interrogation; he had been the person closest to Silva, potentially a useful asset. He was also inspiringly, extraordinarily brilliant with computers. Silva’s formidable skills had been honed, perfected in Q. MI6 were looking to hire, and if Q could be trusted, he would be useful.

Bond was mostly just curious. Curiosity was a dangerous little quirk of his, but he indulged it regardless. The boy was absurdly beautiful. More importantly, he was just entering his first heat, and Bond could _smell it_.

“You must be Q.”

“And you’re James Bond, agent 007,” Q replied comfortably, knees tucked up to his chest, body shaking very slightly as he smelt an unbonded Alpha. “He spoke about you. What can I help you with?”

“You’re in heat,” Bond said carefully, his head reeling. He had read every scrap of information on Q; he had an IQ registering him at genius levels, no history, nothing. He had just appeared, brilliant and beautiful, and currently sliding into a state where all he wanted was an Alpha to bond with. It should have been Silva; it made matters almost more poignant. Silva had taken M. Bond would now take Q.

The boy’s eyes widened as Bond opened the door, walking into Q’s cell; he gave an indication to the guard at the door to black out the glass in the doors, keeping them hidden from view.

Q’s breath was rapid, eyes clouding as he tried to focus on Bond. The smell was overpowering, a young Omega, waiting to be claimed, desperate; Q’s body arced instinctively towards him, seeking contact.

Bond let out a low growl, and kissed him forcefully. Q reciprocated, breathless and desperate, fingers clawing at Bond, begging in a low, atonal voice, barely conscious of doing so.

The decision had been made the moment Bond opened the door. Q had expected Silva; this was a more positive development for him, the handsome form of James Bond taking him apart fractionally.

Q was ready, eager, as Bond’s fingers slipped inside. When Bond finally, _finally_ took him, Q was practically incoherent; the heat had consumed him completely, so close, so stupidly close to finally being taken, releasing the burning tension under his skin.

The younger man nuzzled against him afterwards, both rubbing their scent into the other. They were bonded for life now, their futures inextricably linked. “Thank you,” Q breathed against Bond’s collarbone. Bond held his new Omega close, and kissed him.


	123. Chapter 123

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I love your writing! Could I possibly have a 00Q where James and Q are in bed cuddling telling stories about past lovers and both are getting a little bit jealous with a happy ending? Thankssssss!:) - anon

“… She was incredible, such long legs, you wouldn’t _believe_ …”

“… I was with him for nearly two years. Thought I’d spend forever with him, to be honest, until he left me for a woman…”

Both of them were swapping stories of romantic history; Bond’s was more lengthy by necessity, unravelling the impressive number of partners he’d had, lingering over Vesper as the first longer relationship he’d sustained in life. Q had fewer in number, but greater magnitude; he had been in several long-term, committed relationships in his life.

Bond couldn’t help but feel jealousy, inadequacy, as Q told him about Michael; he sounded like everything Q could have wanted. An extraordinarily intelligent young man, his intellectual equal and temperamental double, such a frighteningly perfect match from everything Q was saying. They had split when Michael cheated. Q’s voice still held an odd tenderness that stabbed Bond in the chest.

Q, meanwhile, was feeling a mounting sense of insecurity over his barely-existent sexual history. He’d been with exactly five people over his life, Bond included, and had spent months at a time seeing nobody at all. Sex wasn’t a priority, while _all_ of Bond’s history was peppered with sex.

Both of them began working themselves into a vague frenzy, defending themselves with more stories of their own, managing to force the other into more defensiveness with every moment that passed.

“Do you still think about him?” Bond asked, in a tight voice; somebody had to make the first move to calm the situation down.

Q thought for a moment. “I suppose, but it’s gone now. I never really got closure on it, he left so quickly… it’s odd, it lingers a little.”

“You know I won’t leave?” Bond said quietly, allaying Q’s fears with that one sentence; Bond, in all his stories, never expressed any desire for monogamy. He spoke of them all as passing fancies, even Vesper left forgotten in the light of Q.

It was oddly humbling, being so important, so linked to somebody who had no reason to want him. “I love you,” Q said, almost surprised at his own realisation. Bond’s smile was electric.

“I love you too.”


	124. Chapter 124

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is hit on the head a little too hard, and there is damage to his brain. MI6 still sends him out with other agents cause he is still a good blunt instrument even if he struggles to make conversation. Or write. Or do a lot of ordinary things. Back at HQ however he finds things more difficult and so latches to Q in an attempt to understand the world around him. Q is reluctant to help at first but soon finds himself helping without even thinking about it. (not fluff, please… hurt/comfort?) - skyfalletcetera

The damage to Bond’s brain left him running on instinct and adrenaline, as a human being. He could fire in a straight line, accurately, could run very fast, physically perfect, simply deployed with a few very basic, simple instructions.

Part of it was simple retrograde amnesia. He had lost memory of basic human functions, while retaining perfect control of the more skilled, personal aspects of his training. He knew how to kill and be killed, and stayed with MI6, who allowed him to do both.

He could read, but couldn’t write, and could barely talk. He remembered words, how they were formed, but the act of putting pen to paper, spelling, handwriting; he could mimic words he saw in front of him, but lacked the links to manage it himself, without copying.

Q looked at him with pity, which was frankly annoying, not to mention patronising. He needed equipment, however, and Q was there to supply him. He was rambling nonsensically about something or other, Bond watching him with polite indifference, understanding approximately two words in five.

He came to an abrupt stop. “You have no concept of what I just said, do you?” he asked quietly. Bond, grateful for the reduction in over-complex language, shrugged. Q sighed.

“Give me an hour, I’ll make it easier,” he promised, smile kind. Bond rolled his eyes. “I mean it, Bond. I can amend this so it’s simpler. Red button, blue button, that kind of thing.”

Q’s tone was mocking, Bond’s expression un-amused and grateful. He returned later, and Q handed him over the modified equipment, telling him in simple, calm terms how to operate the radio, alerts, explosive components. “I’m trusting you to not mix them up,” Q snorted, and Bond left for his mission.

-

It was Q who had the idea about how to help his writing.

Bond would he could only write anything he directly mimicked; if he saw the word ‘sky’, he could then spell it, repeat it perfectly, the angle of the font precise. When left alone, he couldn’t create new words, unless he had seen them before, could draw them up in his memory and replicate them.

“Read,” Q suggested quietly. “Read anything, and everything. Fiction, an encyclopaedia; I’d say read the dictionary, only that is perhaps cliché. Your vocabulary will expand. Your handwriting may be odd, but you’ll have words at your disposal, should you need them.”

“Thank you,” Bond said carefully; words were difficult for him these days. His mind could create them, but his mouth didn’t always respond.

Q smiled, nodded. “Any time,” he said honestly, and went back to researching forms of retrograde amnesia with frightening intensity.


	125. Chapter 125

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I saw Lara croft and I remembered Daniel Craig was in it, so maybe some sort of fic where eve is Lara and to get more info on the whereabouts of eve, James has to kinda seduce it out of Q being the tech genius he is. Maybe then James loses his interest in eve and starts to pursue q instead? - anon

Eve Moneypenny was the kind of woman who could cause chaos without trying. An archaeologist and explorer, with a surprising moral streak; Bond found her intriguing. Not to mention that she was paramount in his having any success whatsoever as an archaeologist.

Tracing her, however, was difficult. She kept herself very well hidden. Luckily, however, she had links – and Moneypenny was only as strong as her weakest links. Q, an anaemic-looking young man with oversized glasses and questionable fashion sense, would last about five minutes under interrogation.

Physical interrogation was all very well. Bond took one look at the kid, and realised he had no interest in physical interrogation. He would get quicker, and more pleasurable results, through seduction.

Q stared through wide eyes, cuffed tightly to the chair, looking terrified.

This would be ridiculously easy.

“Good evening, Q,” Bond said gently, settling himself in the chair opposite Q. The kid looked very young, very naïve. “I am sorry for this unpleasantness. I have a few simple questions for you, before I can let you go about your business.”

Q nodded mutely, glancing around the room, quite obviously looking for an escape. His hands twisted in the metal cuffs slowly, surreptitiously.

“If I release you, can I trust you’ll behave?” Bond asked carefully, shifting closer, body barely a foot from Q’s. Q’s nod was almost shy. Bond smirked, standing slowly. He stalked around to Q’s hands, fingers brushing along the young man’s forearms, noting the soft sigh in the process.

Just absurdly easy.

Bond fished out his key, let the metal slide off each bruised wrist. “Thank you,” Q said, very quietly, voice perfectly toned, gorgeous. It the first thing Q had said since his capture.

Q suddenly lashed out, backwards. The chair went flying, Q moving in unbelievably quick, efficient movements. He didn’t waste time; Bond hissed in pain as Q managed a rabbit punch to the side of his head, vision abruptly blurring. “Fuck, you’re quick,” Bond grunted, utilising every piece of his combat training against the implausible figure of Q.

It took a disproportionately long time to have him flat on his back, wrists pinned, Bond holding him down with his full bodyweight. “Impressive,” Bond noted.

Q raised an eyebrow, all pretence at naivety or fear entirely gone. “Yes, I know,” he said casually, and kicked Bond in the groin.

That was just _unfair_ , Bond snarled to himself, as Q scrambled away and out the door.


	126. Chapter 126

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First: I adore your prompts! You guys do a fabulous job at bending them into short, satisfying bits! Actually, I’ve a prompt of my own, inspired by all of the Ace!Q headcanons: during cases, Bond sleeps with lots of people, but when he gets home, he’s functionally ace. Q doesn’t understand this, but is supportive. - beaubete

Bond collapsed onto the bed, looking utterly wrecked. “Are you alright?” Q asked gently, helping his partner out of the ridiculously well-tailored suit. He already knew what had happened, and that Bond was not particularly alright, but Bond would tell him all was well because otherwise Q would worry, despite both of them knowing he’d worry either way.

Missions were difficult, simply because they involved a sexual component in many cases. Sex was a weapon, and Bond truly excellent at using it.

Ironic, then, that he was quite entirely asexual in his personal life.

“It’s a job,” he told Q near the beginning, when Q was still new to the idea, didn’t understand it. “It’s… if you had to sleep with a woman, for the job. It’s not the most favourable of ideas, but it doesn’t cause any harm. I don’t have any interest in sex, I don’t like it much.”

Q was surprisingly alright with it. Bond had some excellent compromises, often involving talk and masturbation, keeping both of them a little happier. Q enjoyed sex; Bond found infinite numbers of alternative scenarios that really, were more than enough.

It didn’t stop being difficult, however, seeing Bond having passionate sex with somebody for a mission, then coming home and demonstrating no sexual interest towards his partner.

The mission had involved sex with no fewer than three different people, for various reasons; Q felt unbelievably empty afterwards, knowing it was Bond’s job, knowing that it meant nothing, yet hating that other people were afforded the brilliance of Bond’s sexual prowess.

It wasn’t as though sex was the most important thing – merely, he couldn’t help but feel jealous, and wonder, with an odd sadness, if it was him.

“Bond, I know this will sound absurd,” Q said quietly, fidgeting. “I just wanted to know – do you find me attractive, on a physical level?”

Bond almost laughed aloud. Of course he found Q attractive; Q was one of the most beautiful young men Bond had seen in his entire life. He didn’t need to show Q that.

Instead, he pressed a chaste kiss to Q’s lips. In a low voice, rasping air and lips, he detailed every facet of Q’s being in eloquent words, everything that he found attractive, perfect, beautiful, until there was no doubt left.


	127. Chapter 127

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi i’ve been reading a loot of 00Q angst lately and i need some fluff just cute happy cuddly fluff. please. - blanketburritos

Bond couldn’t help but laugh.

A funfair was a bizarre enough experience, at his age, and with the kind of combat training he had. He felt oddly out of place, dressed down to a ridiculous degree, not a crisp seam in sight, and his boyfriend equally in casual clothes – impressively, a genuine change from his norm.

That was beside the point. The thing that Bond couldn’t stop laughing at was his boyfriend, clutching the single largest stick of candy floss known to all mankind. It was a bright, infantile pink, and literally larger than Q’s torso.

Q grasped it stickily, sugar getting everywhere, adhering his fingers to the thin wooden stick somewhere underneath the _cloud_ of candy floss.

“Anyone alive in there?” Bond asked with a hint of irony, managing to not even _dent_ Q’s beaming.

“I haven’t had candy floss since I was tiny,” he bounced, tearing a thin chunk off, letting it dissolve on his tongue. “James, you have to try this.”

Bond blinked. “What?”

Q giggled, tore off another chunk, jabbed towards Bond’s face; Bond had no time to react before Q mashed it against his lips. Thin sugar strands burst across his tongue, Q watching him with a wicked expression. “More?”

Bond had to, begrudgingly, nod. Q snorted, fingers sticking together as the candy floss dissolved on his fingers. Bond leaned forward, kissing Q softly, tongue cleaning the corners of Q’s mouth with deft little flicks. “Love you,” Bond rumbled in his ear.

Q laughed again. “You too. Haunted house?”

Bond rolled his eyes, and let his - apparently – teenage boyfriend yank him towards the next attraction.


	128. Chapter 128

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00q prompt- bond and q are undercover at a club, and someone tries to dance/hook up with q, jealously follows. if you fill this then thank you! love your stuff! - anon

Bond and Q were both undercover, on one of the rare missions Q had cause to get involved with. Initially, it was about establishing a presence; they needed to show their faces together, in the right places at the right times, to attract the attention needed from the right contacts.

In short – Q and Bond were in a club. Their story hinged on their being in a ‘business partners with benefits’ type of situation, their ‘business’ being drug dealers. Not precisely moral, but that hardly mattered; anybody buying was monitored by MI6 immediately after, and half their ‘client base’ was MI6 constructed.

Q was dressed in the tightest trousers Bond had ever seen in his life, black shirt open with the collar popped, revealing swathes of gorgeously white, unblemished skin beneath. His hair had a wind tunnel effect, giving him an extra four inches height, eyes rimmed with shadowed kohl, contact lenses.

Bond was plainer; the jeans were suggestive, leather jacket more so. He had the intelligence to dress for his age, meaning a good half the club were looking to Bond – a very good-looking, rich gentleman – as a potentially lucrative contact. Not to mention the drug links.

It was midway through a potential sell when Bond noticed Q, flat against the far wall, pressed against another man without an inch of air between them. Bond’s jaw tightened. He returned his attention to the sell, sliding a thin packet into the kid’s hand, accepting the money.

Double-oh assignments often meant abandoning _all_ morals. It also meant intentionally forgetting about relationships for a while, forgetting love, contact, care. Which meant that Bond should not have been upset at seeing his boyfriend grind his hips against another man, looking like he would love nothing more than to be taken into some back room and thoroughly fucked.

The music throbbed far too heavily, the heat of infinite bodies difficult to part as Bond slid towards Q.

Q, who was now being roughly felt up by some other man, Q’s mouth by his ear, probably shouting, inaudible. Bond got close enough to watch, carefully, as the other man started kissing the side of Q’s neck possessively, Q’s face etched with ecstasy.

This promised to be a long evening for Q, when they returned to the hotel.

It grew too much for Bond’s patience to put up with when Q started to be given a pseudo-handjob through his ridiculously tight trousers, hips bucking into the other man’s hand.

Bond texted him. He watched Q’s whine of disappointment, the other man trying to continue, Q shrugging him off with an apology, a harsh nip to the side of the other man’s neck, sliding a card into his hand with a wink. Bond nodded to himself, content, walking out so he was ready to meet Q.

Q ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. “That man was disgusting,” he whined. “Useful, certainly, but disgusting…”

Bond slammed the younger man against the damp, brick wall, and kissed him hard enough to split his lip. Q voiced a brief complaint, before realising it was entirely futile. He waited for Bond to calm down.

“You done?” he asked casually. Bond’s lip twisted in a grimly possessive snarl.

“Not even close.”


	129. Chapter 129

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I request a James/Vesper/Q fic based off the song So Soon by Marianas Trench? If it ends in 00Q, that would actually be the best ever. :) - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. Vesper’s inclusion in the prompt was tricky, so I’ve ended up going thematic rather than the verbatim story in the song; hope that’s alright!

Bond didn’t have relationships. He, quite simply, couldn’t afford to.

Vesper stayed lingering heavily in his consciousness, invading where he least wanted, clouding his judgement. He had let himself love properly, truly _be_ with somebody, revel in somebody’s presence, and lost them entirely.

Her betrayal, her death. The double-pain of it all. Losing her in every sense.

Bond didn’t do relationships. He couldn’t.

Q didn’t ask for anything, certainly didn’t demand. Bond’s female lovers always had _expectations_ , for him to turn domestic, to start showing more attention, to pander. It was dull, pointless, and not Bond in the slightest.

The relationship just… happened. Bond wasn’t certain he liked it. He liked Q, yes, but this was too odd, too difficult, _wrong_. He wasn’t in love with Q, yet Q was the first person he’d returned to, again and again, for company, for companionship.

Vesper clouded his conscious thoughts, whenever he saw Q. Over a year since her death, and he still felt he was cheating on her, betraying her by even considering being with somebody else. The sex didn’t matter, the sex had _never_ mattered. Sex didn’t mean much to Bond. The rest of it, however, did.

He had ‘the rest of it’, with Q. He had the friend, the lover. The person he could confide in, the person who would take care of him if needed, the person who loved him, who needed him, who made him want to be somebody better, somebody perfect for Q.

Bond should not have been in a relationship. He was too bloody irresponsible with other people’s emotions.

Yet Q was bulletproof, or so he seemed. Whatever Bond did failed to anger or upset him; he just shrugged it off, blinked, raised an eloquent eyebrow over the top rim of his absurd glasses, and waited.

He accepted Bond precisely as he was, and didn’t ask for anything more.

Oh, but he missed _her_.

“Am I doing the right thing?” he asked Q one night; Q was sat up, buried in a laptop, forehead contracted in some worry Bond couldn’t reach, couldn’t understand.

Q glanced up briefly, returned his attention to the laptop. “I don’t know, James,” Q sighed absentmindedly. “You loved her. I don’t suppose loving somebody ever goes away entirely. But you love me, in a different way – the two can coexist. It’s your choice. I would much prefer if you stayed.”

Perhaps it was too soon. Bond had resigned himself to being alone. He could survive alone, it was best for all concerned if he remained alone. Vesper would have hated seeing him move on so flippantly.

But then, she was gone now.

Bond didn’t say anything, didn’t move. He elected to stay. Move on from Vesper, and everything she had been. Settled back with a glass of Scotch, watched junk television while the man who was, apparently, his partner, typed frenetically.

Q, unnoticed, gave a very small smile.


	130. Chapter 130

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ll offer a bit of random headcanon I’ve been playing with: Q loves music and well he has a playlist for pretty much everything. But I also see him loving the totally random stuff that just makes him smile (i.e “Just A Little” by Liberty X, anything by Billie Piper and random boybands). So maybe he’s caught dancing around Q Branch or the kitchen by Bond? Something totally cute and fluffy please and loving all the prompts! This is a daily stop blog wise now. - anon

Q had a shockingly good singing voice. Truly shocking. Bond had never imagined, in a million years, that Q would be that good.

Leona Lewis was the opening gambit; “A Moment Like This” was quite vocally fiddly, but posed absolutely no problems for Q, who demonstrated range to match technique as he soared into higher registers, a rather strong falsetto showing through.

It was an auspicious start, let down _dramatically_ by Liberty X. Yes, he could sing it. The problem was in that _nobody should_.

Bond was sat in their living room, Q was in the kitchen. It was a testimony both to the volume of the music, and Q’s observational skills, that he hadn’t noticed Bond yet. Bond was settled back, watching Q with hilarious interest as he started dancing.

Q was cooking. The flat smelt of fried vegetables, cooking meat, spices. Bond was very much looking forward to it, when it was all done. In the meantime, the floor show was simply brilliant.

_Oops, I did it again…_

Britney Spears. Of _course_.

Bond snorted with laughter, as Q belted out Britney Spears with a _very_ provocative accompanying dance routine, managing to cook while dancing. An achievement in, and of, itself.

It finally became too much, when the Spice Girls _Wannabe_ chorus came on, and Bond realised that Q clearly had all this music _on his ipod_.

He nearly fell off the sofa laughing. Q dropped something with an unbelievable volley of curses, darting out of the kitchen, chalk-white, to spot Bond in a collapsed heap on the sofa.

“You _tosser_ , how long have you been there?!” Q snapped at him lividly. Bond was snorting to himself, reached out to Q, tugged him forward.

“You have a wonderful voice,” he said, with an almost straight face.

“I hate you,” Q repeated, rolling his eyes, starting to smile despite himself. “So. Since you’re here, planning on helping cook?”

Bond’s look of panic was revenge enough for _months_ , even as Westlife started playing next door.


	131. Chapter 131

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is wearing shirts with cufflinks in Skyfall (just realised that. I really should stop analysing everything second by secong…). Anything 00Qish with cufflinks. Perhaps Bond gets him a new pair whenever he’s abroad, perhaps they share and switch. perhaps someone finds out about their relationship because Q is wearing Bond’s cufflinks…. anything. Keep on writing! you’re awesome! - anon

Q was tired, very tired. It had been one hell of week, James had been on a mission and was barely back on terra firma according to latest reports, and he’d slept for approximately twenty minutes in the past three days.

He stumbled into his office, collapsed into his chair, praying that somebody would let him go home soon. Sitting on his keyboard was a small box, a piece of paper underneath.

Q stared at it, too tired to even raise an eyebrow. His hands felt uncoordinated as he grabbed it, managed to open it with inhuman amounts of effort. He stared at the aeroplane cufflinks, glanced at the paper.

 _Nothing to be afraid of_.

His laugh was frankly inelegant, but he really didn’t care. Somebody’s arms slid around him when the world tilted and turned dark with exhaustion, somebody who smelt of warmth and gun oil, and he liked it, so he slept.

-

The next set were cleverly wrought treble clefs, appearing only a few days after Q told Bond about his piano playing, when he was a kid, how he had nearly ended up becoming a concert pianist before his parents threw him out, and he fell out of practise, found computers in an internet café, found where he belonged.

 _If music be the food of love, play on_.

Bond could quote Shakespeare. Who knew?

-

Q wore the ‘Q’ cufflinks to work, when he felt particularly depressed, or was overworked. Every time he caught sight of them, he grinned madly.

Bond had never given them to him in person, and Q never spoke about them. Q wore them from time to time, at the right moments; the aeroplanes for confidence, the treble clefs for freedom, the ‘Q’s for happiness, the ‘7’ ones just because. The Greek masks of tragedy and comedy found their way into being when he was ready to lie to M, the strange doughnut ones when he hadn’t been eating and Bond was getting worried.

He started lining them up in a neat collection, smiling every moment he saw them in the wardrobe drawer.

Bond still never mentioned them. Yet every time he spotted them on Q’s shirt, he smiled understatedly, and kept thinking about where to find the next ones.


	132. Chapter 132

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond accidentally runs over Q’s cat with a car, and James tries to cheer him up with whatevr, your choice. Thanks!!! - anon

The _bump_ was overwhelmingly obvious.

Bond froze.

 _Shit_.

-

Q was very worried indeed. Bond had made him tea, bought his favourite biscuits, sat him down on the sofa with a sombre expression. “Q,” he said quietly. “It’s about R.”

Q felt his face drain of colour, feeling oddly cold. “What happened?” he asked hollowly, already knowing the answer. Bond’s expression was apologetic. “ _James_.”

“I was reversing out this morning…”

Bond felt a wave of horrendous guilt running through him as Q’s face clouded in on itself with grief. He’d had R since moving into his own place, nearly ten years previously. He’d had R in lieu of other friends, colleagues; somebody to stave off the loneliness.

“I’m so sorry,” Bond said gently, reaching out for Q’s hand. Q stared at the coffee table, slumped over onto Bond, and started to cry.

-

There was nothing Bond could do, really, to make it better. Q had lost something very important to him, and really, it was Bond’s fault. He couldn’t replace R, but he was happy to ply Q with gifts in the interim.

The piece de resistance was the exceptionally difficult to get hold of, not overly legal, early prototype plans of a nuclear fission project in Germany. Not on MI6’s radar for the time being, but Q had wanted to know what they were doing for _months_.

Bond got to Germany, retrieved the plans, returned home, in the space of one working day. Q came home to find Bond waiting; he raised an eyebrow, suddenly grinning as he saw the documents on the table. “You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. Bond just shrugged.

“I know,” Bond replied, with a light smile. “I wanted to. Q, I killed R.”

It occured to Bond that really, that sentence could get in deep shit in MI6. R was a very stupid name for a cat.

Q smiled sadly. “It happens,” he said softly, before glancing back at the plans. “Thank you, James. I appreciate the gesture.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond replied, kissing the top of Q’s head quickly, leaving Q to start thumbing through the papers. R had been a wonderful cat; she’d had a good life. Q couldn’t mourn forever.


	133. Chapter 133

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> still taking prompts? I love them!! bond finds out that Q had a partner, not mi6, when that person dies unexpectantly. H/c and angst…. lots of angst please. =) - anon

Q’s eyes were dark, expression bleak. He looked out of place, in black, from head to toe, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “You look like you’re headed to a funeral,” Bond said teasingly, hoping to coax a smile, something. Q looked at his watch.

“In about an hour, I will be,” he replied tonelessly, and continued typing.

-

Bond wondered why Q hadn’t forced MI6 to let him take the day off. He asked Eve. Eve informed him that Q had insisted he come into work for the morning, before taking the afternoon off. MI6 needed him, so he stayed.

“Who was it?” Bond asked quietly, as Q picked up his things and left his branch behind. Eve shrugged sadly. Nobody knew.

-

Bond arrived at Q’s flat that evening with a bottle of very expensive whiskey. He tapped on the door gently. “Hey,” he said, in the lightest voice he could manage. “Thought you could use some company. Feel free to tell me to leave. I thought I’d offer.”

Q stared at him, blinked. Wordlessly, he pushed open the door, letting Bond in. Bond took soft steps, padded, into the flat, glancing around the familiar sterility of an MI6 agent’s home. “Before you ask: my partner,” Q explained, settling into the deep indent of the sofa where he’d evidently been for a while. “We’d been together for over three years. Car crash, a few days ago. He died instantly.”

The gravity of it nearly knocked Bond off his feet. “Q…”

“Don’t patronise me, please, and don’t try and dictate how I should be responding,” Q said flatly. “Please, just… I’m trusting you. If you’re going to stay, don’t try to condescend.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bond said honestly, heading into the kitchen for some glasses. “Out of interest, why didn’t you tell anybody?”

Q laughed hollowly. “I’m the MI6 Quartermaster. He would have been an instant target. We were subtle,” he explained, accepting the glass, letting Bond pour him a decent measure of whiskey. He downed it without blinking, to Bond’s surprise. “Jay was okay with it, with all of it. He… _god_ , James, he actually…”

Bond watched Q fall a little, recompose himself, breathe out. The silence built, somehow not oppressive, just present.

“I loved him so much,” Q murmured, after a long while, reaching for the whiskey again. He was crying, barely perceivably, in the manner of somebody who hadn’t even noticed. “I really did…”

Bond shifted over to Q, reaching out, questioning; Q shuffled, encouraging, giving Bond permission to close arms around his Quartermaster, cradle the younger man to him as he cried, softly, devastated. No hyperbole, no dramatics, just simple, horrible tears of pain that ran too deep for external communication, just festered somewhere inside him.

“I’m so sorry, Q,” Bond murmured, stroking Q’s hair gently. “I’m so sorry.”


	134. Chapter 134

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: James Bond is a patient at a mental hospital, and he lives in room 007. Alone with only his thoughts, he dreams up his perfect life—a handsome secret agent who goes on fantastic adventures, fighting bad guys, and wooing both women and men alike. The doctors see that his fantasies have calmed him down, and don’t bother to intervene. - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to anybody who’s had prolonged exposure to the UK’s mental health services. For the record, the dual diagnostic axis I use in this can manifest with delusional episodes, especially where psychiatric drugs are concerned. Hence this. Any questions, feel free to message me :) Jen.

The man in Room 007 was gentle, calm. He had a honeyed voice, lethal anger, dangerous unpredictability.

Initial diagnosis spoke of ultra-rapid cycle bipolar affective disorder, type one, with a secondary diagnostic axis of borderline personality disorder. James Bond had tried to live a life with his emotions entirely out of his control, bearing no relation to his formidable intelligence, seeing the world in a way uniquely his and coming within inches of losing his life to it.

Creative and logical to a terrifying degree, intelligent enough to witness his own fallacies, trapped in a mind that was prey to the chemicals in it. For a while, he had needed heavy medication, anything to keep him from being a danger to himself, or others. To start off with, he’d been dangerously manic, with an accompanying anger that was breathtaking to witness.

After a while, he stabilised, and it became obvious that somewhere in the proceedings, James Bond had escaped.

James wanted freedom, and he found it. He found a world where he was important, where he was not merely in control but the _epitome_ of it, where he could rebel against the highest forces possible, could save the world and everybody in it, again and again, could be with anybody at all, anybody he wanted, they all fell for him completely.

His resident psychiatrist was a young, dark-haired man, who seemed the only person concerned with Bond’s little escapism habit. He watched Bond too-carefully, tweaking the medication regime, trying to get Bond to slowly, tentatively return to real life. One day, he would need to rejoin the world; losing a constructed reality could be immensely painful, if he became dependent.

As they watched, Bond threw himself deeper and deeper into his constructions. He opened his eyes to take pills, eat, stare blankly at the room around him and wait for him to slide back into his world, because he could, because he had to. He was so tired of the instability of his waking hours, of being victim to his mind.

“Hey Q,” Bond smiled, one morning, the young psychiatrist waiting for him to wake, monitoring his conscious responses.

The young man smiled; it was their little running joke, that Q’s surname was unpronounceable, so James just called him Q. “How’re you feeling this morning?” Q said lightly, sitting back in his chair. Bond sat up in bed, blinking languidly.

“Like a manically depressed middle-aged man in a mental hospital?” he said, seesaw mockery, black anger behind the almost-monotone of his response. Q watched him, nodded slightly.

They went through the usual battery of questionnaires, establishing Bond’s mood, comparative stability. Q then diversified onto his imaginary life, the one he would doubtless escape into in a medicated haze the moment Q walked out. Most facets were textbook; the hero complex, the defiance, the flirtations. James had never held a relationship in his life, his emotions too unstable to cope.

“I dreamed of you,” James said quietly, making something uncomfortable plummet in Q’s stomach. “Quartermaster. Q for short, obviously. We met in an art gallery, you… well, you supplied the materials for the mission, and…”

“And what?” Q coaxed, at James trailed off.

James looked at him through glinting, bright blue eyes. “You were beautiful,” he replied simply. Q couldn’t help the slight flush that rose in his cheeks. This was skirting into inappropriate territory with every passing second. “Sorry,” he said absentmindedly, glancing back off into space.

“James, how do you feel about group therapy?” Q asked; James needed to start returning to real life, if he could, somehow. The longer he remained isolated, the harder it would be to return to normal.

Bond’s previous psychiatrist had all but written him off, convinced that he would find severe difficulties returning to normality. His mental health issues spanned years, cataloguing back to his adolescence, teenage years. As his life continued, he spiralled further out of control, leaving him here, with seven catalogued suicide attempts to date.

“James, you need to start participating,” Q told him, visibly worried. “I think you have a chance for recovery, still. I know it’s…”

“You know fuck all,” Bond replied, without vitriol.

Q nodded, trying again regardless. “James, if you try, you could recover. It’s up to you. Somebody will along with your meds in a minute.”

“Hooray,” Bond muttered humourlessly, sliding back down the bed, blocking Q out. “Goodbye, Q.”

The words slid out without intention, almost an encouragement, Q’s voice sad: “Dream well.”


	135. Chapter 135

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing writers:D I was wondering is you could fill a sort of angsty prompt for me. Bond “dies” while fulfilling a mission and Q goes into mourning. He begins to see Bond everywhere, at work, at his flat etc. So when Bond comes back from the dead as per his mission requirement Q thinks he’s hallucinating. He won’t touch 007 but Bond reaches him somehow. - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fill has a beautiful book cover, which I'll link through as soon as I can.

“You need sleep.”

“Yes, I know,” Q murmured, glancing up at the figure in the corner of his office. Bond raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Q just sighed, and took another sip of his tea.

There were rules. Bond never touched him. Q never acknowledged his presence in public. They both knew Bond was dead; Bond would wryly comment on it, once in a while, and Q would smile until it cracked, and he cried in his office with the spectre of somebody he once loved looking over him. Bond didn’t speak in those moments, wouldn’t go away either.

Bond guarded him when Q tried to sleep. The simple facts of that sentence were enough to stop Q from ever sleeping, and anyway – he didn’t want to wake to find that even this echo of James had gone. Q wasn’t sure he could bear to lose anything more.

Even if the thing he was losing hadn’t existed in the first place.

-

“Hey,” Bond said, gentler than breath.

Q glanced up from his computer; Bond stood in the doorway, wearing what looked to be his favourite Armani suit, smelling of strong coffee and whiskey and ink and spun sugar.

Bond left, every once in a while, of course. He had a life to lead. ( _Q laughed_ ). There were moments where Q could be on his own, pretend he was dealing with any of this, even slightly, pretend he didn’t want to keep on hallucinating for the very simple reason that it stopped him feeling so alone.

“Hey,” Q murmured back, the familiar salt sting behind his eyes, in his noise. He breathed carefully, hollowing out a long exhale. “How’re you doing?” he asked, voice cracking slightly.

“Fine,” Bond replied neutrally, lips twitching in a half-familiar smile. “And you?”

Q let out a shattered laugh. “Oh, I’m fine,” he shivered out, eyes darting again and again to Bond. His voice fell to a disconcerting whisper. “Oh, _James_ …”

“I know,” Bond said soothingly, the hush in his tone the same as he would use when a mission went wrong, when Q was upset, when anything. The tone reserved for Q alone. He took a step forward; Q held up hands, keeping him at a good distance, the only way he could even _begin_ to cope with any of this. They had their rules. They had to.

“Are you staying?” Q asked, almost-casually, lip twitching towards a smile, not quite managing it. Bond watched him with so much care, like he was documenting every aspect of Q, ready to guard him if necessary from anything, everything. He nodded once, simply.

Q buried his head in his hands for a minute, two minutes. When he lifted his head, Bond was settled in his chair, watching him through textured, tired eyes. “Q…”

“Shh, James,” Q half-smiled, vision blurring very, very slightly as he caught a half-imagined smell of whiskey. “I need to work.”

-

Hours passed.

“Q…”

“Please stop,” Q whispered, tearing at his own skull, willing the voices to leave, for the figure to finally leave him alone. The hallucination fell silent; Q noted it with more gratitude than he knew he could feel.

He continued trying to work, feeling himself falling apart at the edges, as Bond sat implacably opposite, looking like every memory Q had of him all at once. He was too perfect, like that. Still and silent, a guardian angel.

Q gave another short, horrible cackle. He was ascribing angel status to a hallucination.

He was going crazy, and didn’t want to stop.

-

The day trickled into evening, and he wasn’t leaving. Bond had usually left by now, for a little while at least, left Q alone for a little bit. Now Q didn’t even have that. The image of James stayed there, lingering, impossible and immediate.

Tanner knocked on the door, stepping into without hesitation. “007,” he nodded to Bond. “Q,” he continued, shifting the files he was carrying into the other hand, placing them on the desk in front of Q.

Q had absolutely zero interest in the files. He looked between Tanner and Bond, feeling blood drain from his face, utterly, completely and entirely _terrified_. Sentences were a long way beyond him, throat closed, mouth abruptly turned to paper.

“Oh _god_ ,” he whispered, looking at Bond, at James, his James. “I don’t…”

Bond seemed to understand far faster than Tanner, who just looked mildly concerned for Q’s wellbeing. Bond darted to standing, moving quickly around to Q’s side; Q gave a little, frantic sob, batting out at the spectre, entirely unprepared for said spectre to envelope him in a hug, Q lashing out with thin limbs, half-screaming as he tried to consider the very real, very immediate possibility that he had finally lost his mind completely.

“Q, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” Bond said hurriedly, hand around Q’s head as the younger man convulsed in his arms, panic and grief lending him unusual strength. “I thought you needed space, time to adapt, I didn’t… I’m here, Q, I’m here and I’m real, it’s over.”

The noise Q made was something like the howl of a dying animal, mournful and plaintive and horrifically pained. Tanner was long gone, having realised he was witnessing something that wasn’t his; he shut the door, leaving Bond to tackle Q on his own.

“You’re _dead_ ,” Q managed, crying freely into Bond’s shirt, clutching for breath, fists loosely bundled in balls against his chest while Bond cradled him, cheek on Q’s head, the younger man shaking violently enough to rip them apart unless Bond held on. “I heard… I _saw_ , I mean… James, _god_ , James, you’re real, you’re actually _real…_ ”

“I’m here,” Bond soothed again, as Q breathed in, flooded with too-familiar scents. “I’m here, and I’m not going again, Q, I promise, I’ve got you. It’s okay. I promise, Q, it’s okay…”

Q’s hitching sobs began to quiet, still. The emotional input, on top of the crippling exhaustion, was too much; tears still drying on Bond’s shirt, in Q’s eyes, he passed out on top of the apparently very corporeal figure of his own James Bond.


	136. Chapter 136

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know this is a bit different, but maybe you could write something where Q and James are women, with sexy-times? I love your writing!!! - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit nsfw...

“Bond, oh _god_ …” Q gasped, Bond’s lips dipping along the elegant planes of her body, hands curving around flat hips. Bond, by comparison, was devoid of androgyny; she wore her sexuality like a weapon, toned and curved, Q wrapping her hands around Bond’s waist to draw her closer.

Bond’s lips were impossibly soft, perfectly bowed. Q shuffled hands under her blouse, tracking upwards along her stomach, fingers teasing the fabric of her bra. Bond’s head dipped lower, dropping kisses from the edge of Q’s collarbone to the central breastbone, ducking lower, head resting in the faint pillows of Q’s breasts.

Q’s head tilted back, exposing her long throat. “Are you sure?” she asked, voice careful, spun sugar in its delicacy.

Bond glanced along Q’s thin body, purring lightly, nipping at her earlobe. “If you are,” she replied, voice liquid velvet, tempting, rich, textured. “Oh, you beautiful thing…”

They collapsed against Q’s bed, Bond laughing lightly as Q tugged away the duvet, giving them space. In a fractional moment, she had returned, fingers tracing the buttons of Bond’s shirt, examining the slight strain on the button over her breasts. Bond made a faint noise of want; Q took the cue, sliding the buttons open to reveal the laced, padded contours of Bond’s breasts. “Oh,” Q whispered softly, Bond shivering deliciously as Q’s cold hands traced over them.

Bond took a further initiative, hands pulling Q’s jumper up and over her head; her impossibly-slim figure a marked contrast to Bond’s toned hourglass. Bond’s hair fell past her shoulders, Q’s cropped in a pixie cut that left enough to be grabbed, enough to run fingers through, tantalising for Bond to trace through.

Fingers tracked down Q’s beautiful body, finding the clasp on the trousers; skirts were impractical in MI6, given the consistent threats of being in high-end governmental roles. It was fair to say that Q’s body was even more beautiful naked than clothed; Bond tugged the trousers off, running hands over the threaded thighs, shaped calves.

Q tugged at Bond’s trousers with a hint of frustration, unable to find the right angle to loosen the button; Bond intervened, popping open her trousers and sliding out of them with gorgeous motions. Q couldn’t believe how gorgeous she was; the exercise gave her an overall tone, Q’s hands sliding over her thighs with a sense of almost-disbelief.

She was distracted by Bond’s fingers, trickling underneath her underwear, dancing lower; a moment of assessment, before a mercilessly-aimed press against her clit. Q gasped slightly, shifting, trying to get more of _something_.

Bond kissed her again, their bodies echoing one another so absolutely. “More,” Q whispered, showing more, asking for more; Bond smiled, so refined.

“My pleasure,” she replied easily, and obliged.


	137. Chapter 137

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any chance if you’re not too busy you could do a short ficlet about Skyfall/00Q where instead of it being Silva on the island there’s a plot twist and Q, who James has already met, is the bad guy? Thanks! - nalane

Bond really did find being tied to a chair a rather mundane happenstance. Every single villain went for it, at least once. If he hadn’t been rather intent on _meeting_ the mysterious man he’d spent several days tracking down.

“Hello,” intoned a soft, careful voice.

 A shudder of something distinctly unpleasant crawled down Bond’s spine. He recognised that voice; beautiful tone, a cultured accent. He couldn’t quite place where he knew it from, unable to accurately pinpoint who it was.

Q walked into his full view, expression neutral and slightly mocking. “Q?” Bond asked, utterly shocked. Q smiled slightly.

“I apologise for all this,” he said lightly, gesturing to the bonds around Bond’s wrists. “One must be careful.”

 Bond was rendered completely, and entirely, speechless. “I don’t understand,” he said carefully, expression set, livid. “You’re my Quartermaster…”

Q’s eyebrow quirked expressively. “That as may be, I have other interests,” he commented drily. “Now, Bond. To sate your curiosity – I am one of the best hackers and programmers working in the world, at this moment. My services have been sought by many; I prefer a sense of independence, autonomy.”

Bond let out an inadvertent, quiet snarl. “So you’re engaging in outright cyber-terrorism?” he hissed at the young man, unable to balance the sight of the young man, quiet and reticent, now containing a terrifyingly immediate power.

“In essentials,” Q said quietly. “The atrocities committed by MI6 over the years are notable; there is a certain degree of vengeance required, before the reformation. I intend to remain in the forefront of the developments, while exacting revenge on the behalf of the infinite people torn apart by the betrayals of their government.”

Bond was still for an odd, suspended moment. “Revenge?”

Q’s smile was devoid of humour. “I’m going to kill M,” he said quietly. “Mallory will, I expect, be promoted in her stead. He has a different outlook, it will help. The world is changing, and I am prepared to change it.”

Bond was forced to concede that his delicately beautiful, spectacularly intelligent Quartermaster was also a psychopath. He had liked Q. Sarcastic and sharp, with a steel backbone; he had thought, albeit briefly, that he would enjoy flirting the boy, probe further into who he was.

Now, Bond would be compelled to kill him. How spectacularly inconvenient. “Why are you telling me?” he asked; the answer was probably obvious. Q didn’t expect him to survive long enough to tell anybody else.

“I’m offering you the chance to join the impending revolution,” Q said instead, rather than giving an outright, blanket threat. “You would be of tremendous help.”

Well. _That_ , he certainly hadn’t expected.


	138. Chapter 138

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt attack! Q’s flat is somehow rendered uninhabitable (it could be because of a bombing/kidnapping attempt/death threats, an experiment gone awry, chemicals being left open and somehow fall into each other to make a poisonous gas or something; not picky) and calls in a favour with Bond to stay at his place until he can move back to his own. Preferably preslash where Q discovers what’s hidden behind the 007 persona. - virtualoutcast

“007. Do you recall your absentminded promise of a favour, after the incident in Bolivia?” Q asked, biting his nails without thinking, cursing himself when he noticed. He had promised himself he would stop the habit.

Bond, on the phone, let out a cautious: “Yes. Why?”.Q sighed elaborately, mildly worried at Bond’s tone. “I’m cashing in said favour. My flat was targeted, somebody’s after me; I need somewhere to stay for a while.”

Bond was silent for a moment. “Are you kidding?”

-

Q, with a single suitcase, was actually a surprisingly low-maintenance houseguest. He bought in enough tea to sink the Titanic, cursed the kettle, did something frightening to a series of wires under the access panel in the hall, and otherwise was happy to sink into the furniture and remain unobtrusive.

The evenings were the awkward moments. Q circumnavigated most problems by burying himself in his laptop, shooting Bond occasional glances over the top of it, almost wary.

Bond cooked.

“Really, 007, you have hidden talents,” Q smirked, devouring a surprisingly good curry with distinct fervour.

Bond snorted. “It wouldn’t be inappropriate for you to call me ‘James’, you know,” he quipped without venom; Q glanced at him, holding eye contact for a heady few seconds before dropping again. “Will I ever find out your name?” Bond asked, after a few moments.

Q blinked. “No,” he said simply, and returned his attention to the curry.

-

Q was an odd little creature, Bond mused, as the young man managed to completely cock up slicing a piece of break from a loaf. He ended up with a hilariously uneven almost-slice. “That was atrocious,” Bond commented lightly.

“Sliced bread was created to avoid atrocities like this,” Q pointed out primly; Bond smirked, nudging Q out the way to cut him a proper slice. Q watched his face, Bond pretending not to notice, the pair dancing neatly around one another.

-

“You’re drunk,” Q said, sounding both shocked and disgusted.

Bond felt mildly affronted; it was hardly obvious, he could hold his alcohol well. It wasn’t like he was draped over every available surface and slurring. Q raised an eyebrow at his expression, tugging the annoyed agent into his bedroom. “Bond, you’re better than this,” Q said simply, and shut the door on him.

-

It had occurred to Bond that he was more than within his rights to throw a tantrum over how Q had treated him the previous night.

He didn’t though. He was far from being a petulant child, after all.

He didn’t actually know what caused him to settled on the sofa next to Q the next evening, the young man comfortably curled with his laptop, and started speaking of loss, of sadness, and of nothing.

Q watched over the edge of the laptop, letting the screensaver run, turn to black as it went on standby. He didn’t say a word. When Bond was done, he smiled very faintly, and gave a minute nod of understanding.

Bond didn’t notice Q’s hand covering his own. When he did, he found he didn’t mind it all that much.


	139. Chapter 139

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write an AU where Silva is still with the MI6 and Q is sort of like his adopted son? So when he noticed that Q and James have feelings for each other, he puts James through a series of tests to make sure his feelings are real. And Q’s just both amused and annoyed by the whole thing. I love your writing by the way! - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, slightly misread the prompt; Silva is apparently Q’s actual father, in a demonstration of very dodgy biology, accent, nationality and sense. The general idea of the prompt remained intact though, so hopefully you won’t hate me forever! Jen.

The final straw, for Bond, was the bloody hooker. He called Q, from his mission, quite a long way past the point of caring about irrelevant details like his cover, or his security.

“Tell your father to leave me alone,” he said flatly, with absolute confrontation. Bond had never needed to deal with _family_ with a partner before; this was a strange, scary, and wholly horrible experience. “I’m not going to cheat on you, poison you, steal from you, or in any way harm you physically or mentally. The same cannot currently be said for your father.”

Q snorted with laughter. “The great 007 can handle guns, bombs, nuclear weapons… give him the boyfriend’s father, however…”

“This is different,” Bond growled. “He’s tried hooking me up with three different women, and a young man in a bar. He’s now sending prostitutes. I’ve already had several _hours’_ worth of interrogation. Call him off. Seriously. Do _something_.”

Q agreed, promised James he’d do something. “Daddy?”

“Hello! How’s my clever boy?”

Q’s nickname; he’d been ‘clever boy’ since he was old enough to dismantle a hard drive. Still a toddler, simply put. “Daddy, are you bullying James?”

The silence was tell enough. “For god’s sake…”

“If it’s any consolation, he does seem to love you,” Silva grinned, his Spanish accent rather heavy; Q had taken after his mother, thankfully. Bilingual, but with no trace of an accent.

He sighed. “I know he loves me, Daddy, it wasn’t _me_ trying to confirm it,” he pointed out; Silva purred in his ear, Q rolling his eyes. “Yes, I _know_ , but he’s not sleeping around any more, is he?” he asked rhetorically. “Yes. I know. I _know_ … just leave stop it, leave my partner alone.”

Q hung up the phone, feeling oddly exhausted. If it wasn’t one, it was the other; both consistently seemed to have something to say about the other, and very rarely positive. Two _ridiculously_ over-protective men.

Ah, well. At least it was nice to feel loved.


	140. Chapter 140

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi~~It can’t be repeated enough that your stories are lovely! Not sure if this has been done before….but here are my two prompt ideas: The pre-requisite is of course Bond and Q are together, but then it can either be 1. one of the double-oh agents is close friend with Bond and would like to test Q or know what so special about Q or 2. still a double-oh involved but this time he/she wants to destroy Q so that he/she can have a go with Bond but gives up in the end due to Bond’s confession. Thx! - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy, my dear. The martial arts moved referenced are legitimate; Lex can do bits and pieces of it (god help me). Jen.

Alec was an odd man. Q couldn’t help but feel wary; the agent showed signs of mistrust from time to time, odd glances when he believed Q couldn’t see. He was the first to spot flaws in any of Q’s work, critical to an unkind degree from time to time.

Q was an adult, he could handle it. Nevertheless, it wasn’t exactly _pleasant_.

“Do I want to know why Trevalyan is quite so…” Q said, trailing off with an odd gesture; Bond watched him with mild interest, barely suppressing a smirk. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Q, the last person I fell for was Vesper, who turned out to be an almost double-agent, and entirely destroyed my psyche for several months,” Bond explained simply. “Alec is attempting to be a good friend, for reasons known only to himself, and making sure you’re not about to…”

“… break your heart?” Q completed, with a cheeky smirk.

Bond rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

-

Alec was _resilient_ , Q had to give him that. Once he’d thoroughly cross-examined Q’s latest tech, probed a series of sharp comments that would have turned lesser men into intellectual puddles, and altogether done his level best to take Q apart mentally, his tactics became dirtier.

Q literally had no idea how it happened. Alec was criticising him one moment, before launching into a seduction with tangible enthusiasm, a genuine nature that made Q doubt his own sanity, Alec crowding into his personal space with fingers tracing the inside of his wrist, oddly intimate.

“My dear Quartermaster,” Alec purred; Q, quite abruptly, decided he’d just about had enough. Not a second too later; Alec had been seconds away from attempting a very misguided kiss.

Q darted out in a series of immensely fast movements; Alec hadn’t been prepared, moving on the defensive far too slowly, by which point Q had already hit the necessary pulse point; Alec dropped like a stone.

“Listen carefully,” Q said lightly. “I care very much for James. I have no immediate intentions of causing him harm, or upset. While your sentiment is admirable, let me assure you that further attempts to undermine my, or my relationship, will be received very poorly.”

Alec struggled back up to standing, quite surprised at how much parts of his body hurt. A specified form of martial art, the kind that suited a thin, unassuming being like Q perfectly.

Clever, pretty, and with a spine. Not to mention the ability to floor a trained double-oh agent in less than fifteen seconds.

Alec couldn’t help but concede that the boy seemed pretty much perfect.


	141. Chapter 141

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I blame too much dance based reality tv for this idea: but what if Bond and Q end up bonding over something like Strictly Come Dancing/Dancing with the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance or something along those lines? Even better if they end up teaching the other his style (for some reason I see Bond as the ballroom guy with Q as a hip hop, tap or swing guy) so heavy on the humor/fluff since they would be a couple? The prompts are so much fun to read! – anon

“Come in,” Q called, tone obviously distracted. Bond pushed open the door; the sight of Q staring at his computer, with an expression of consternation, was hilariously familiar. The muttering was new. “Bloody _appalling_ posture, just embarrassing…”

Bond blinked. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, with some lingering sarcasm.

Q looked up. “Dance programmes are a menace,” he said enigmatically, and returned his attention to the screen.

Bond couldn’t help himself. He crossed to behind Q’s chair, looking over his shoulder, discovering that Q was watching Strictly Come Dancing, still with an expression of utter consternation. Interestingly, Bond could see why. “That’s impressionistic, as far as ballroom goes,” he noted drily.

Q froze.

He turned to Bond, expression mildly incredulous. “Forgive me, but am I to understand that you know the _correct_ posture for ballroom dancing?” he asked sceptically.

Bond indicated the screen: “Straighter here, the extension is non-existent,” he noted. “Minimal abdominal strength. Stylistic mimicry, not craft: she isn’t holding herself well, everything’s sloppy.”

A thin smile played in Q’s mouth. “Yes,” he said, a little impressed. He gave a strange, strangled yelp as Bond yanked him up off his chair, their bodies abruptly pressed together.

Life could certainly be classed as ‘surreal’ when _James Bond_ started humming a waltz in your ear, coaxing you into motion.

Alright then.

“This isn’t my speciality,” Q pointed out, moving regardless, somehow managing to end up in the female position, and _really_ , that was just embarrassing; he pushed Bond back a little, away from the desk, readjusting their positions. _Ha_ , he thought to himself, as Bond’s eyebrow lifted in faint surprise.

He didn’t try to readjust, or reassert control. He hummed gently, setting a rhythm; Q took a moment to feel out the rhythm. He and Bond moved in perfect symbiosis, their bodies blending perfectly, Bond’s lips by his ear, a soft, intimate tune for just them, for a moment.

Bond’s hum swelled out, Q guiding them through the small space of his office, Bond’s body taking on a strangely fluid aspect; Q had a sudden picture of Bond in a floor-length, flowing dress, and chucked to himself.

Q could feel the progression of Bond’s half-improvised music, the pair trying new movements, moving with the crescendo.

Bond, it seemed, was surprisingly flexible.

They finished with barely a millimetre of space between them, Bond’s breath clouding Q’s glasses. The moment remained suspended, implausible, silence hanging between them, waiting for somebody to take action.

Q pressed a soft kiss to Bond’s lips, and pulled away before Bond could say another word.


	142. Chapter 142

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it’s that time of the year, and GOD HOW I HATE TAX TIME: Q may be a genius in 99% of the aspects of his life, but when it comes to tax time he’s utterly hopeless. Take that in whatever direction you like, but please include at least one point where Q is sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by MOUNDS of paperwork and empty teacups. Good luck! - anon

Bond walked into their flat, dumping keys in the bowl by the door, calling out: “Q? You home?”

In return, he heard a strangled sob. Bond couldn’t help but shift onto panic stations; he reached for his gun, cradling the familiar weight in his hands as he took quiet, wary steps towards their kitchen.

Q was face-down on the table, shrouded in paper, stacked piles and post-its and a pile of teabags that was in imminent danger of toppling over, the half-empty milk carton sat next to it, calculator clenched in a death-grip in the fingers of Q’s left hand.

“Q?” Bond asked cautiously. “Are you alright?”

“I hate my life, and everything in it.”

He was fine. Bond re-holstered his gun, rolling his eyes as he did so. “What’s happened?” he asked gently, pulling out the other kitchen chair; Q suddenly sprang into motion, bloodshot eyes wide, hand reached out to stop him.

“ _Move nothing_ ,” he rasped, frozen in place.

Bond nodded slowly, placating, shifting away from the table. “Okay. Q, I’m going to need an explanation.”

Q whimpered, and gestured the papers. “Taxes, James,” he said with a light sob. “I’m still independently assessed, for the work I did, and occasionally still do, outside MI6, and trying to juggle the two is making me hurt. If Excel won’t work it out, what _bloody_ chance do I have?”

“Ah.”

Really, there was nothing more useful Bond could say. Q was brilliant at numbers. Usually. Bond was, quite simply, not. He couldn’t help. He could only proffer biscuits and tea, and a horizontal surface when it was all over.

Carefully, Bond wrapped his arms around his young lover, making sure to not even _brush_ the piles of paper. “It’ll be okay,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Try to stay calm, hmm?”

Q just gave a vaguely muffled wail, and collapsed back forward onto the table.


	143. Chapter 143

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bond wants an open relationship - until he realizes Q is actually sleeping with other people and he gets jealous. Thx! – anon

Bond really wasn’t sure quite how he’d ended up so lucky.

Not only was his boyfriend an utterly gorgeous, intelligent human being, but he had gamely accepted Bond’s suggestions of an open relationship, with a few soft queries, and minimal objection.

Thus, Bond was able to continue his habit of fucking everything beautiful he came across, and still come back to his Q at the end of it all.

Whoever said you couldn’t have cake, and eat it too, was _lying_.

-

Bond kissed Q deeply, their form of good morning; Q smiled sweetly, squeezing Bond’s hand before he pulled away, engaged with something on his computer. “Those are the same clothes you were wearing yesterday,” Bond noticed, forehead creasing with faint confusion.

Q looked up at him; he raised an eyebrow, nodding. “Well observed,” he said lightly, watching Bond with a slightly curious expression.

“You weren’t here, and you didn’t go home,” Bond continued, following through the thought.

Q snorted, eyes flicking over Bond’s expression with interest. “Again, well observed. Problem?”

Bond shook his head. If Q had been out all night, that really wasn’t his concern, technically speaking. Q didn’t probe into whatever Bond was doing, when he was out with somebody. It _wasn’t his business_.

-

Fuck everything, it _was_ a problem.

-

“You were with somebody last night,” Bond said curtly, sitting opposite Q, the desk an ocean between them. Q rolled his eyes, nodded; he was within his rights. Bond had wanted this from the outset, both of them having freedom sexually.

Bond felt a thrill of absolutely _blinding_ jealousy. Q should not have been sleeping with anybody else, god _damn it_. Bond could settle for sex with him, only him, if just to ensure that Q remained _his_. “Alright. Fine. Q, this isn’t working, this ‘open relationship’ bollocks isn’t working. I don’t like it.”

Q looked at him, blinked.

“ _Finally_ ,” he exhaled, with visible relief. The jealousy ploy; Q couldn’t help but feel rather smug that it had worked. He had never really wanted an open relationship; he had, however, known that Bond would never be happy otherwise. This way, he’d managed to hook James into a relationship, and even stood a decent chance of keeping him. “I thought you’d never say.”

Bond wasn’t sure what was going on. He was relatively certain that he had just been manipulated into monogamy by his MI6 boyfriend. Q just watched him with a silly, satisfied smile, apparently _delighted_.

“I…”

“Don’t think about it,” Q advised, and kissed him.


	144. Chapter 144

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I love your writing and have been reading your fills for a while now. I was wondering, write a fic where Q has a twin sister who is as brilliant as he is, and she is a hardcore hacker. Bond is bringing her into MI6 because she hacked their system. :) – finding-the-doctor

“Target apprehended.”

“Excellent. Bring him straight to Q-branch, I’d like a word; some of that work was quite extraordinary…”

“Her,” Bond corrected, shooting daggers at the woman in question; she stared back unapologetically, dark hair in a messy bun, comfortable semi-formal jacket unbuttoned over a black v-neck top. The product of a nationwide hunt, finally traced to a flat in Epsom.

Q blinked. “Really?”

“Yes, _her_. I’m looking at her,” Bond said drily. “She also managed to bite me, would you believe. We’ll be at MI6 in a couple of hours.”

-

Q took one look at her, and his face fell, almost comically. The woman shifted from one foot to another, looking _ridiculously_ smug about everything. “What the _fuck,_ Meredith?” Q snapped.

“You know each other?” Bond asked dangerously, glancing between the hacker who had caused so many problems, and his Quartermaster. Q’s expression was sheer _murder_ , as he held out a hand to gesture:

“Bond, meet Meredith. Hacker extraordinaire, and the only person I’ve ever discovered who can underpin my security systems quite so efficiently. My goddamn _twin sister_.”

-

“What do you intend to do with her?”  Bond asked; Meredith had been carted down to the cells in MI6 HQ, awaiting further instruction. Q was just staring blankly into a cup of tea, looking immensely troubled.

“She’s brilliant,” he admitted, after a moment. “Better hacker than I am, I’m better with coding and overall programming. We actually need an expert hacker on site…”

Bond could see where it was going, and was relatively certain he didn’t approve. “Q, she hacked in MI6,” he pointed out, as though that was more than enough explanation as to why Q definitely should _not_ consider hiring her.

Q blinked once, twice.

“Bond, how in the hell do you think _I_ got into MI6?” he asked incredulously. Bond gaped. Q just drained the last of his tea, and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’d better speak to M. This is going to mean a fucking _shitstorm_ of paperwork.”


	145. Chapter 145

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a fic in which Q is the grandson of the late M (the iron lady) and both of his parents died because of his grandmother’s work at MI6 (like a bomb or something). He rushes to Skyfall to see his grandmother dead and Bond is there but couldn’t save her. He blames Bond for that, and blames himself, too, hurt/comfort please. Bonus if there is an angry sex-scene. Lol. Thank you. - chibura

“ _Fuck_.”

The noise was a sharp exhale, a sudden deflation. Bond stood quickly; he had been knelt over her body, sheltering her without conscious intention while MI6 began to filter in.

And now, there was Q, staring at M as though the world had ended. Bond couldn’t bring himself to offer comfort. M had been an immensely important figure in his life; her loss cut deeply, threaded into his bones.

When Q tried to kneel next to her, his hands shaking, Bond couldn’t resist the defensive growl: “You barely knew her.”

Q’s eyes meet his, and the green his ablaze with unbelievable anger. “She was my grandmother,” he says, quite devastatingly. He kneels by her side, gathering her hand into his, and Bond doesn’t argue.

-

Bond waits until Q has opened the door, then pushes into the younger man’s flat without a word. “Piss off,” Q tells him, and Bond utterly ignores him. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey as he makes for Q’s kitchen, finding two glasses and pouring a healthy measure into each.

Q gives up complaining, accepts the drink. Knocks it back with practised ease. He wants to tell Bond, to explain; he is alone in the world, now. The last of his family is dead. His parents died in a targeted bombing attack when he was a child, M had taken custody; with the head of MI6 as his parent, it was easy to conceal their links.

Nobody had known. It was the only way to be safe.

Bond tries to speak. “I…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Q hisses, and pounces on the man.

It is barely kissing. It is devouring. They consume each part of the other through their anger and pain and grief, because they can. When Bond bites Q’s bottom lip a little too hard, Q reciprocates through a long scratch up Bond’s back, grazing the skin.

Blood is drawn on both sides.

Q and Bond were very unstable people. M had been their bedrock. Without her, they attacked one another, the reminder and the link and the only person in the goddamn world who could start to understand.

No romance. They fuck hard, fast, nails scoring trenches into skin and splitting the other open.

When all is done, they do not speak. One stares at the ceiling, the other stares at his own hand on the pillow next to him, neither seeing the object of their sightlines. There is a vague awareness that another body is there, another form, another life. Somebody in pain, the same pain, different pain. An equal and opposite.

That can be examined at a far, far later stage.


	146. Chapter 146

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loved that evil!00Q you write, do you think you could write serial killers!00Q please? thank you :) – captivatedby-you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, lovely fanwork accompanies this, and I will find it at some stage, I promise. Jen.

The moment before the kill was Bond’s domain. The rush of anticipation, the glorious thrill of un-tempered power, the point of a knife hovering over a throat, prepared to bite through the hot, muscled cage of a human body. Bond liked knives, mostly; the intimacy, the control.

After the death, well. That was Q’s.

His eyes would take on a fierce spark, a light. His body would spring from shadows, capturing the fallen form of an empty body, the analytical aspects dissected. The removal of identifying features – from watches to eyes – before the cleanup.

Blood, scrubbed off a concrete pavement, off cobbles. The subtle aspects of a scene manipulated, their calling card; perfect murders. No evidence, nothing to link through to them.

Even if they found a scrap of DNA, a fraction of a fingerprint, it was irrelevant. There were no records. Q, and Bond, didn’t exist. They lived life in shadows, out of the scope of others, themselves and their work and the slight smell of rust permeating their hours. They lived.

There was no defined purpose to it. Bond had simply become addicted to the act of killing, Q to the feeling of being untouchable. They were unknown, unseen. They blended into the depths of London; one night at the Ritz, the next sleeping outside a pub in the back of beyond.

Q, or Bond, would suggest a target. Rich or poor didn’t matter tremendously, but they did make a point of intermittently targeting ones with means when their own funds were running low. A life on a knife-edge was exhilarating, extraordinary, but needed occasional maintenance.

After a good kill, they would find somewhere. A street, a bed, a home, _somewhere_. They would fuck until the spark in Q’s eyes had faded back, until Bond’s adrenaline had fizzled out; the sex was harsh and ruthless and utterly brilliant, exploding through them like so much lightning.

“ _There_ ,” Q would breathe to Bond, pointing out somebody. A mother, a son, a husband, an aunt. Once or twice, they picked off a couple – easier when they were younger, more naïve.

They even had a vague, unconfirmed routine about it. A similar routine was in place should anybody accidentally see, notice.

Q liked to play with his food; Bond enjoyed the kill ever more, if there was a note of fear, of panic, in his victims. Q liked being able _inspire_ the fear, give it roots, origins. Bond let the fear grow into terrifying immediacy, before the moment of execution.

One night, a triple murder – their first, done out of sheer curiosity, testing if they _could_ – and Bond pinned his young lover against the wall, hands still coated in blood. He kissed Q with terrifying, passionate immediacy, cock straining in his trousers. “A moment, James, we need to get back,” Q gasped at him, the emerald sparkling at him.

Bond nodded, swallowed, glancing at the smears of blood on Q’s cheek. “Let’s,” he agreed in a low gravel, and Q laughed as he was pulled into the darkness.


	147. Chapter 147

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone plays ‘p.y.t’ in qbranch. q suspects bond. Xx - anon

_Don’t you know now is the perfect time…_

“ _Somebody_ shut that _fucking music off_ ,” Q screamed, utterly hysterical. The bloody song had been playing on incessant, painful repeat for the previous _four hours_. Q couldn’t work out how it had been done. Clearly, one of his subordinates had been involved, but nobody was telling and Q was reaching the point of homicide.

 _I wanna love you_ …

Q knew. He didn’t know how he knew, and he knew far less how to prove it, but _he knew_ that Bond was involved, somehow. He’d found some leverage over his usually loyal branch minions, and decided that _this_ was in some way _appropriate_ , or even _funny_.

Well. To be brutally fair, Eve found it _hilarious_.

“Well, at least he thinks you’re pretty,” she’d said, through giggles, and left before Q threw things at her head. Eve evidently agreed with the assessment that Bond was involved.

It was going to be the most painful way any double-oh agent had died.

“If I hear ‘na na na’ one more time, I swear, I will make you all work eighty hours straight, and change all the fucking tea and coffee in the _building_ to decaf,” he swore, an oath nobody was prepared to risk; losing caffeine would be truly catastrophic for everybody concerned.

A few of them started trying, really trying, to take out the audio feeds – something that Q hadn’t been able to do solo, given that the programming whoever had used had been truly, genuinely brilliant.

“If nobody confesses to having programmed this, I will send you _all_ down to MI6 interrogation cells until you’re _singing_ the coding you used,” Q hissed, trying not to convey any admiration for the bastard who’d managed it.

It took another two hours. Q had, on his word, removed all tea or coffee from the vicinity. A younger Q-branch kids, one of Q’s own protégés; she closed herself in Q’s office, and burst into tears. “ _He said you’d take me off the India mission_ ,” she sobbed hysterically. “I had to, and I’m sorry, and…”

Q rolled his eyes. “Of course. Bond?”

The girl squeaked, eyes full of tears, and nodded.

“I’ll have a word,” Q said dangerously. It was ridiculously unfair of Bond to target the weakest part of Q-branch for a simple prank. Not to mention a prank that was more irritating than _anything_ Q had come across before. ‘Pretty young thing’, indeed.

He would be considerably less pretty while he yelled at Bond for his behaviour, he mused with satisfaction, sending the girl out to shut down the programme with a quiet assurance that she would remain on the India mission.

In the end, he gave her a promotion. It had been a truly _excellent_ bit of programming.


	148. Chapter 148

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is a extremely amorous and greedy lover. Poor Q is exhausted and rather than admit it to his smug lover he starts hiding at MI6. At least until 007 catches on and starts cornering him there. XD - anon

Q, blinking languidly, tugged R into his office. “Alright. If Bond appears, for whatever reason, I’m not in the office. Find excuses. Anything at all.”

R raised an eyebrow. “Sir…”

“Don’t ask?” Q pleaded, collapsing sideways into his chair, pillowing his head on his arms as his eyes started to slide. “I’m not here. Just… twenty minutes, alright? I’ll be back online soon, just buzz me if something desperate happens.”

R, thankfully, retreated. Q fell asleep within seconds.

-

It wasn’t that Bond was pressuring him into sex, not in the slightest. Q loved sex with Bond; it was never boring, exhilarating and brilliant and consistently extraordinary. The simple problem was that Q hadn’t slept for more than a couple hours per night, for the last month, consistently. Bond was able to sleep in; he was off active duty for a little while, letting the Tehran crisis calm, and took every single opportunity to fuck his gorgeous partner.

Q was startled awake by the buzzer. “007 alert,” R said simply. A second later, somebody was knocking on the door, quite insistently. Q blinked, literally struggling to stay conscious. He took a moment, before opening the door.

“Hello James,” Q said lightly, sighing. “What can I do you for?”

Bond shut the door behind him. Q glanced over his desk. The papers would need to be moved. He locked the door.

Sleep was clearly never going to happen, he mused to himself, as he came hard into Bond’s fist not a tremendously long time later, Bond drawing soft, pleasured cries from his lips.

-

Q started hiding out on the shooting range, weapons room, back of Q-branch, beneath Moneypenny’s desk. He only wanted a nap. Half an hour, an hour. Just to tide him over a little, given that he was going to burn out if he kept sleeping for barely two hours a night.

Bond kept bloody well tracking him down. It was when Bond managed to open the door to R’s office – where Q was curled in the footwell of his subordinate’s desk – and flirt teasingly, that Q finally snapped. “James, I know you’re exceptionally virile,” he said, moaning faintly as he struggled to standing. “Your sex drive is truly exceptional, well done, but oh my _god_ , I need sleep.”

About ten seconds passed, before Bond dissolved with laughter. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” he asked, snorting slightly, reaching to pull Q into his arms. “You’re hiding out anywhere you can find, I thought you were just trying to egg me on…”

Q shook his head against Bond’s chest, genuinely too tired to push the older man away. Bond smiled, kissed the top of Q’s head lightly.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Bond murmured, as Q started half-dozing, standing up.

Q woke up nineteen solid hours later, wrapped around Bond’s body like a cocoon. Bond kissed him as he woke, Q purring in satisfaction, feeling a _lot_ more up for it now he had gotten a few hours’ sleep, truly engaging for the first time in _ages_.

Bond conceded that letting Q rest was a very, _very_ good thing.


	149. Chapter 149

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how you feel about threesomes or at least it’s potential, so feel free to pass on this one especially since it’s dark: Silva successfully turned Bond against MI6 and wants to complete his collection with the potential Q presents. They successfully nab him and instead of torture they ensure Q has no outside contact except them and wait for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in. If you want to keep this 00Q with Silva as an interested party that’s fine too. - anon
> 
> Some Silva/Q with Whump!Q and maybe Stockholm - Syndrome? Pretty please! - anon (linked this in too, hope that’s alright).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for dubious consent, and general mindfuckery.

Q woke up with a faint headache, lying on a soft surface, tucked in a blanket, dressed in light cotton pyjamas. He rubbed his eyes, blinking as he sat up; it wasn’t his room, wasn’t his bed, weren’t actually his pyjamas. He couldn’t honestly remember much in his immediate memory, barring Q-branch going into chaos over Silva, and the apparent turning of agent Bond.

“Hello,” purred a soft, uncomfortably familiar voice.

Q sat up faster than he knew possible. _Fuck_. “What the hell am I doing here?” Q asked flatly, feeling fear blossom in his chest; Silva did not have the kindest track record with those he acquired.

Curiously, however, he wasn’t injured in any way. His hands were bound, but with soft material rather than metal; intended to restrain, not intimidate or hurt.

“Calm down,” intoned another, more honest voice. Q closed his eyes, as though in pain. _James_. Not James. “We have no intention of hurting you, Q. We just want to talk.”

“Fuck off,” Q said, with horrible quiet, and shuffled into the furthest corner of the bed, eyes screwed shut as though he could block them out.

-

They didn’t leave. In practise, it would transpire that Q simply lived with them. Silva had a room at the back that Q was not allowed into _under any circumstances whatsoever_ , but otherwise, it was essentially a flatshare, without access to the outside world.

It was all open-plan. Q was treated to the sight of Silva and Bond fucking, the evening after he first woke up; Q walked calmly to the bathroom – with no lock, naturally – and threw up, tears stinging his vision.

Silva tapped on the door as a gesture before walking in, cradling Q with oddly soft arms as Bond cleaned him up. Q cried half-hysterically, pleading with them to let him go, _please_ , just let him leave, he wouldn’t speak to MI6, he’d just disappear but please, let me _go…_

The arms were warm around him, rocking him softly as he cried himself into a terrified sleep, waiting for the axe to drop.

-

It never did.

-

Silva and Bond – what remained of the man who had once been James Bond, anyway – just treated him like he belonged there. He was fed, clothed, cared for; when he tried a somewhat inevitable escape attempt, he was beaten, but not badly enough to merit large-scale medical. attention. Just enough to remind him not to try it again. There was no cruelty in it.

Silva kissed his wounds while Bond kissed his lips, and Q’s tears had less hysteria, less passion. He stopped pleading with them to let him go. He let them do what they wanted, because there seemed very little point arguing. They had long since stopped bother to tie his hands.

-

Time had absolutely no meaning.

-

They both spoke to him, of course. Explained what they were doing, why they were doing it.

Q watched Bond and Silva together one evening, curled in an oversized dinner jacket that had been Bond’s, once, and thought. He couldn’t help but think, these days, with precious little else to do.

He couldn’t help but think that they had a point.

-

They slept in the same bed, Q sheltered by Bond and Silva. It was more loving than sexual; they didn’t force him, didn’t touch him. Just held him in a gentle embrace, gave him warmth, sheltering Q from the world when he started crying or panicking, terrified of what he was becoming, terrified of not understanding _anything_ any more.

Silva soothed verbally, letting him know he was alright, while Bond cradled Q’s head against his chest and let the younger man tremble.

-

When Silva brushed a soft, chaste kiss to Q’s lips, Q found himself responding without knowing why.

-

“Shh, little Q,” Bond soothed, his voice in a scarily similar tone to Silva’s, overlapping with Silva’s _clever boy…_

Kissing Bond felt better than kissing Silva, for reasons Q couldn’t work out and didn’t want to examine, so he didn’t. Silva’s hands worked over his body, and Q didn’t quite mind it, although his voice caught slightly when they came near his hips.

Bond gave Silva a blowjob, Q settled in the corner of the bed rather than at the opposite end of the room, not wanting to move away, not understanding why. Bond’s eyes watched him through parts of it, Q’s knees tucked up to his chest, unable to escape the proximity of it.

At the end of it, Q panicked outright as he realised he had an erection.

-

Q had no idea how long he’d been there, with Bond and with Silva, nothing else in the world existing outside those two people. They were his only conversationalists, only company. They kept him sane as his mind started to splinter slightly around the edges, and he clung onto them because there was just nothing else.

-

His head hurt.

-

Such a long time later, Q’s hand found Silva’s cock, mouth pressed against his neck, the older man preparing for an evening with Bond. Silva was still in charge of the proceedings, Q knew that, and he wanted to make Silva happy. He needed to. He just _had_ to.

Silva smiled, and kissed him, and while Q tentatively explored this new and terrifying aspect, Bond kissed every inch of Q he could reach, lavishing attention on the young man’s body, rewarding him for being so brave, so good.

Q finished Silva off, cheeks wet, breath steady.

-

Some dim part of Q realised that things had now gone too far for him to ever return. He was in some parody of a consensual relationship with the man trying to take down MI6, had turned Bond, had acquired a collection of brilliant people and broken them in the ways that pertained to each.

Q couldn’t bear loneliness, sought out companionship, safety. Silva had offered the above, and Q – shut off from any other options – had fallen for it entirely.

He sank to his knees in front of Bond, Silva’s body too-close behind him, naked, the trembling almost gone, and the last of his mind fell away from him with the slightest spike of pain, and the faintest memory of humiliation.


	150. Chapter 150

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q were-au: It’s an unspoken rule in MI6 that if an unmated Quartermaster turns up only the most senior field agents and 00s can try to court him. The agents want to ensure that Q stays loyal to them and not the bureaucracy in the rest of MI6 and they believe there’s no better way to ensure this than by having one of their own bond with him. Bonus if agents scare off other interested parties from finance, admin, etc. - runemarks

The entirety of MI6 was buzzing.

The Quartermaster was unmated. A young, surprisingly beautiful man, waiting for a mate, for somebody to claim him their own; the upper echelons of MI6 were all stupidly excited, and adamant that _their_ department would acquire him.

Q stalked through MI6, untouchable, waiting for anybody to try and approach him.

The double-ohs held a war council, over speakerphone; everybody was on various missions, or dotted around the UK – this took precedence over even active missions. The double-ohs had emergency protocols, after all, and an unmated Quartermaster – or equivalent level role – was one of them.

“I want him,” 007 said, almost instantly, once everybody had tuned into the conference call. He had the kind of tone that brooked no argument; 006 briefly voiced an objection, only to be abruptly shut down. “I need assistance keeping other branches away, they’re already displaying an interest.”

001 agreed immediately; she was in the UK for the next two months, lying low after her previous mission had turned high profile. She needed the fuss to die down, was mostly around MI6 in the interim. “I can tackle the HR department, Tanner owes me a favour,” she said calmly, her voice holding a quiet control that even Bond envied occasionally. “003?”

003 was another agent in the UK, due another mission in a week or so. “I’m happy to cover Medical, if they show an interest,” he told the other agents. “I’m being deployed in the near future, so I will need somebody to cover.”

004 wound up covering 003 when the latter went on their next mission. 008 was monitoring finance – which was really an easy job, given that finance _never_ had the confidence to court; 008 was actually in Mongolia – while 009 and 005 covered the admin and risk assessment departments respectively.

006, quite begrudgingly, was acting as 007’s wingman. Bond and Trevalyan had known one another the longest, knew how the other operated; Bond would set about courting Q, and while he did so, Trevalyan would guard Q-branch from any others wanting to get involved.

-

Another month later, and the double-ohs wound up in another conference call – the only exception was 003, who was in deep cover, and had been excused. “I’d like to announce the success of our initiative,” Bond said proudly; behind him, there was a light chuckle.

“Quartermaster?”

“Hello,” Q said, his smirk barely concealed. “It’s good to know that the double-oh department are a cohesive unit. If the apocalypse comes, at least you lot will be working together. Even if it is to snare unwitting high-status MI6 workers in need of a mate.”

“Pleasure to have you on board, Quartermaster,” 001 said, with an audible lightness. “Ladies and gentlemen, signing off, mission successful.”

Q waited until they’d all rung off. “I cannot believe you,” he said, without venom. Bond just smirked, and kissed him on the mark over Q’s neck, the mark that linked Q to him.


	151. Chapter 151

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there :) have you read the fic Finding John by IronicNarwhal on Ao3? (If not you really should) but can you write something just like it for James and Q please? Like James’s soulmates name on his finger got scarred so he thought it said ‘Vesper’ but it really said ‘Victor’ ( or whatever Q’s name can be)?? Happy Ending please? Much love xx – sherlocked-with-tea

James Bond wore a black ring.

Everybody had their soul mate’s name, etched on the inside of the left ring finger. Tiny, subtle, understated. In Bond’s case, bordering on illegible, barring the _V_ that he could see, the first letter.

Vesper.

James had known – without needing to ever see Vesper’s finger – that he was hers, and she his. He had never been that bothered by his inscription; he was a child who had craved independence, didn’t bother to seek out a magnifying glass, only to become obsessed with seeking another. He squinted, once or twice, the letters simply not visible enough.

And oddly, a little too short to be ‘Vesper’. Bond ignored that thought.

Vesper had simply been modern, disliked that her love would be dictated from birth; she had deliberately burnt off her Soul Bond Inscription, or SBI, when she was eighteen. Bond knew, though. He just _knew_.

So he wore a black ring now to show his mate was lost, and resolved to stop thinking about love, or soul mates. He couldn’t allow it to matter. His Mate was lost; his love died within him, in mourning for the rest of his life.

When he first met Q – in fact, most of the times after that point – he simply didn’t think about it. He liked Q. He enjoyed the moments spent with the young man, whose smile glinted absurdly with aspects of not-quite humour, intelligence that was utterly terrifying. Bond found himself drawn to the man, again and again, and Q to him.

Bond placed his entirely intact gun on Q’s desk. Q looked up, grinned. “Dinner?” he said frankly. Bond blinked stupidly, eyes falling to the silver ring – Q was still seeking his Mate. Q noticed. “… I’m an adult, can make my own decisions,” he said simply.

 “Alright,” Bond agreed, without quite knowing why. He didn’t date. Those in mourning tended to never recover; mourning couples may find one another, but certainly never dated those who were still seeking.

Yet it seemed right, and Bond found himself not wanting to question it. Q smiled lopsidedly, and they arranged the logistics.

It was that night, over dinner.

“I have a confession,” Q said softly, placing his wine glass down and fixing Bond with a worried, sad expression. “James… I know, I _know_ you’re in mourning, but… I can’t think it’s a coincidence… you and I, we get on better than I ever have with anybody. I can’t get you out of my head, and my SBI. It… it says James.”

Bond was very quiet for a very long moment. “And…?”

“If you don’t me asking,” Q continued, twirling the glass between long fingers. “What did yours say? Before she died? Is there… is there any way?”

“It’s not ‘Q’,” Bond said, letting out a short laugh. “I don’t actually know, but I believe it says ‘Vesper’,” he explained, fingers going to the black ring around his finger, twisting it. “It’s quite obscure, but begins with a ‘v’, I know that much. Sound possible?”

“Would you look?” Q asked, ignoring the question; he reached into his pocket, pulling out a pocket magnifying glass. Bond couldn’t help but snort, and Q raised an eyebrow. “I’m hardly going to ask to look myself, bit too intimate, don’t you think?”

Bond accepted the magnifying glass. He looked – really _looked_ – at his SBI, for the first time in years. And – for the first time in his life – read the four-letter word there.

It certainly didn’t say ‘Vesper’.

It didn’t say ‘Q’, either.

“What’s your real name?” Bond asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Q smiled thinly, and shook his head. “It’s Q now,” he said simply. “I don’t have a ‘real name’. My name doesn’t – can’t – exist. I would rather hope the universe, in bonding me to another person, would have taken that into account.”

“I don’t think ‘Vara’ is likely to be it though, do you?” Bond said, an odd feeling in his chest. His Soul Mate hadn’t been Vesper. More disappointingly – and disappointment was _not_ what he had expected to feel – it wasn’t Q.

He looked up.

Q was white.

“Vara?” Q repeated, almost breathless, and Bond nodded. “Name taken from the Latin, meaning ‘unknown’?”  he continued, rhetorical, head spinning violently.

Bond felt the oxygen snatch from his body. “Unknown?” he repeated. Q’s name. _My name doesn’t – can’t – exist._

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” Q rasped, watching Bond with pure, utter hope. He tugged off his ring – Bond examining _James_ , written in orange lettering – and showed Q his own hand. Q grabbed for the magnifying glass, the word _Vara_ written, distinctive.

“It has to be,” he breathed, eyes almost glassy. “It’s me. Unknown name, going under an initial, it…” Q stopped, looking up at Bond with childlike joy. “You’re _my_ James.”

The slight emphasis, the slight possessiveness of it, the fact that this made _sense_ , in a way – with perfect hindsight – it hadn’t been with Vesper. He could understand this far better. This boy, this young man, was everything.

“My unknown Q,” James murmured, grasping Q’s hand in his own, eyes suddenly electric. He had no intention of ever letting the young man go again, not now he had found him. Not after finally understanding how it _felt_ , to be with his Soul Mate, to have him _here_ , unharmed and well and so appallingly _beautiful_ , so much more than Bond could have ever imagined. “Shall we go home?”


	152. Chapter 152

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so glad I accidently came across your blog, I love your writing and thanks for introducing me to 00Q! I’m going to be greedy and make two requests, firstly please continue the amnesia!Bond prompt! I don’t usually read angst but omg I feel so bad for Q. TT_TT Secondly, I’d like to see a fic where Q has to face his fear of flying because he has to accompany Bond on a mission or something along those lines with lots of fluff please! :) – gunssmoke-kenobi

“I’m not going onto that thing,” Q said flatly, his pallor taking on a distinctly green tinge. “Bond, _Bond_ , you can’t make me.”

“Watch me,” Bond said lightly, grip tight on Q’s elbow. Q had agreed, after all, had admitted that he _really_ needed to be on-site for this mission, couldn’t hope to do it remotely. He had even kindly warned Bond that he would react badly, and viscerally, to the prospect of air travel when in the vicinity of a plane. “Q, I can either drug you, or…”

“Drug me, and I will find a _number_ of creative ways to kill you,” Q promised. He hated the idea of anything affecting his neurology or biology, with the exception of genuine painkillers. Narcotics, or sedatives, did not count. “Just…”

Bond stopped, spinning round to Q. “It’ll be fine,” he promised, tone light and comforting. “I’ve been on countless flights, it’s never done me any harm. Trust me, hmm?”

Q opened his mouth for another objection. Bond picked the young man up by the waist, literally _slung him_ over his shoulder, and continued marching towards the private plane that would get them into France. Only bloody _France_. Were it not for time constraints, Bond would have cut all this out and _driven_.

“ _James Bond, put me down right now,_” Q hollered, fists batting against Bond’s back, Bond’s arms keeping the man from violently kicking. Bond ignored him, and the punching, climbing into the plane and depositing the exceptionally irate MI6 branch leader into a seat.

Q ranted, and Bond just raised an eyebrow. “If you’re going to behave like a petulant child…”

“Fuck off, Bond. If I trapped you in a poisonous arachnid cage for several hours, you wouldn’t be exactly _delighted_ , would you?!” Q hissed at him, eyes darting towards the exit; Bond shifted, blocking the escape routes as the doors sealed. “Fuck. Oh _fuck_ , why the hell did I agree to this?!”

“Because I need you,” Bond said simply, reaching to do Q’s belt; the younger man batted him away, pulling it closed himself. “Q. Nothing will happen.”

“Superb, you’re psychic now,” Q muttered darkly, still glaring. Beneath them, the plane started moving – Q’s expression went from green to utterly, desperately white. “ _Oh god_ ,” he murmured, swallowing uncomfortably.

Bond reached forward, placing hands on Q’s; he wasn’t in a seat, was more concerned with looking after his panicking lover. “Hey, Q. Look at me,” he soothed, waiting until Q was properly looking before continuing. “It’s okay. Really. Empirical evidence: highly trained and experienced pilot and co-pilot, an MI6-checked plane, a handsome double-oh agent to take care of you should anything happen.”

Q’s laugh was marginally on the hysterical side, but at least he was laughing. “I fucking hate flying,” he muttered, head hanging; Bond shifted into the seat next to him, at a better angle to let Q collapse sideways onto him.

“I know. Not long, though. You’ll be fine,” Bond promised, kissing the top of Q’s head, and holding onto him the whole way there.


	153. Chapter 153

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just had a silly idea for a prompt: its a rare night off for Bond and Q and they spend it in front of the tv with takeout like a normal couple. Would love silly yet cute fights over what gets watched (fluffy and sweet please?). - anon

Q stabbed a chopstick into a spring roll with absolutely no deftness, other hand grappling for the remote. “No. I object. I absolutely and entirely object.”

“Oh, come on. It’s the world’s greatest example of schaudenfraude,” Bond said, nodding at the TV; the auditions round of X-factor, various unfortunates humiliating themselves in the search for some form of infamy. “It’s fun, Q.”

“It’s humiliating,” Q said flatly. “No, James. Strictly’s on.”

Bond shot him a look of pure contempt. “Seriously? Strictly Come Dancing? You have to be kidding.”

“It’s dance. A little more cultured than tone-deaf morons being bullied by Simon Cowell,” Q said sharply.

“Culture. In celebrities pretending they can dance?” Bond retorted, mimicking Q’s previous tone. “Apart from the pretty dresses, I can’t see why you’re interested…”

Q gave an emphatic, irritable groan. “That was one time, and I was only appreciating the aesthetic…”

Bond snorted with laughter; Q had taken an unhealthy, hilarious interest in a crimson and black cocktail dress, worn by a woman 002 was seducing on a mission in Spain. Bond had never let him live it down. “Yes. Again, what did the woman look like, who wore that dress?”

Q flushed. “That isn’t the point, and not pertinent to our current conversation. Please, James.”

“You can’t win this one, Q,” Bond said, lifting the remote up and out of Q’s reach, the younger man trying to climb over his boyfriend’s body to grab it.

Q growled, settled on Bond’s lap, legs wrapping around the older man’s torso. He grabbed Bond’s hair, pulled him into a deep, languid kiss, hands tracking over Bond’s body.

Bond began to lose concentration, arms coming in to wrap around Q, holding him in place as Q panted slightly, hips shifting, suggesting that Q was perhaps intending to escalate matters. Dinner remained forgotten, as Bond dropped the remote onto the sofa arm, groping Q’s arse confidently.

With a smirk, Q yanked the remote off the sofa arm, and dived into the far corner of the sofa. “Ha,” he said, with grim satisfaction, surveying Bond’s faint flush. “Strictly it is.”

“Manipulative bastard,” Bond grumbled, as Q changed the channel.


	154. Chapter 154

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I posted this earlier and I’d really love to see a story about it: This just hit me and scared the crap out of me. Silva was using code that Q had invented. We all know what he wanted was planned to a T. What if even Q’s promotion was planned? What if Q and Bond found out later that that’s the way it was? How would they feel to see that their meeting had been planned? And idk, Q having a crisis cause he thinks Bond will leave him now. - thedoctorisaconsultinghunter

The meeting with M was nothing short of disastrous, given everything that Q had discovered. There was no possible way of denying it; Q had checked every conceivable option, almost desperately, trying to find ways around it.

“It would seem,” Q said quietly, face pale as he collapsed into a chair next to Bond. “That my appointment in MI6 was not entirely based on my skill set; rather, it would seem that Silva, quite intentionally, designed everything. “ _Jesus_ , I should have seen it earlier. It was my code, my fallacies, that gave Silva such success in the Skyfall disaster.”

“Q…”

Q crumpled slightly, head in his hands. “We were played, all of us,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have been Q at my age, everybody knew that, and this…it proves it. _God_. I don’t know what to do any more. It’s all false. Everything, _all of this_ , was contrived.”

“The Skyfall disaster was _not_ your fault,” Bond said emphatically. “Silva…”

“James, are you not understanding this?” Q hissed, livid. “If it wasn’t for Silva, I would never have been made Q. I would never have been left in charge of MI6 securities. I wouldn’t have met _you_ , James. Even that, he’s even taken _that_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“Q,” Bond said sharply, trying to break through Q’s pseudo-hysterical upset. Q’s gaze darted to him. “Q, he has not taken that. The first time we met was subject to a million different thing. You could have sent R, you could have summoned me to Q-branch. Instead, you chose a place, a time. The words we said, they were _ours_. Silva was not involved in a single syllable of that fucking conversation, so don’t you _dare_ let him shadow that, do you hear me?”

Q’s eyes were wide, very slightly glossy. “I thought I was good,” he whispered. “After everything… it was hard enough knowing what I’d done to M, let alone… knowing, knowing I _shouldn’t_ be here…”

“That is absolute crap,” Bond said flatly, Q blanching at the amount Bond was managing to swear. “If you weren’t good at your job, _regardless_ of what Silva designed, you would no longer be Quartermaster. Nobody in MI6 suffers idiots. Don’t you _dare_.”

Slightly cowed, Q managed to nod. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Alright. James… you honestly… you trust me, yes?”

Bond rolled his eyes. Q could be a colossal moron from time to time. “ _Yes_ , Q,” he said simply, emphatically. “Of course I do.”


	155. Chapter 155

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autistic!Q fic please? - anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manifestation of autism based on an old friend of mine. She once told me that she spoke and lived in binary; I found that fascinating. As always, no insults intended. Hope you like it. Jen.

Q disliked people.

It was something of an established concept. People were foreign. They were unpredictable, illogical, imprecise. Frequently absurd.

Q knew that he did not respond well with people. Any interactions were carefully planned, timed. He liked computers. Intonation was flatter, there was a lack of interface that was welcome. He was not expected to be anybody, nor anything.

“Touch nothing, 007,” Q said, without looking up, attention focused on the screen as he corrected immensely minute details of a new blueprint for a set of trackers. He saw the flaws where nobody else did.

Bond stepped away from the aligned books, prototypes. Q kept a row of pending project files in order, hard copies, tangible and precise.

“And how are we today, Quartermaster?” Bond asked. Q could hear the tonal differences in his voice, found no way of translating them. He could have been angry, playful, any form of expressive.

Q took the sentence at face value, as he always did. “A little physically tired, otherwise functioning perfectly,” he replied, staring flatly at the row, finding no discernible change. He stood regardless, moving around Bond to glance at the row, straightening the corner of a file instinctively.

Bond stood, watching. Q paid him no mind at all.

“Q, are you alright?”

Q looked at him briefly. Blinked. “I believe we’d established that,” he asked, almost curiously. A sudden kick at the back of his mind; he had been taught conversational skills years ago, was even rather good with them when his attention was concentrated on them. They were wearisome, however, and difficult to maintain while working. “… how’re you?”

Bond had grown used to the various eccentricities of his Quartermaster, really didn’t think about them overmuch. He was not especially good with people, no, but he was still blindingly intelligent, with a fairly good sense of humour from time to time. ‘Consistently unpredictable’, Eve called it.

It was only months later, when he managed to find a copy of Q’s file in the further recesses of the MI6 record room, that he found out: autism. High-functioning, certainly, with a few prevalent traits. Difficulty with interpersonal relationship, but had dramatically improved with age. Exceptionally intelligent within his fields.

The diagnosis did explain a couple of things, yes. Really, however, it didn’t make much of a difference.

Bond returned to Q’s office the next morning. “Would you like to go to dinner with me, Q? On a date.”

Q looked at him, looked away again. “Romantic context is heavily implied,” he said levelly, gazing at lines of code.

“That’s the point,” Bond said; no room for misinterpretation, no need for Q to concern himself with analysis. Just facts. Logic. Binary. Q’s language.

Q nodded once, simply. “I’ll pick you up at eight, outside HQ,” Bond told him. With a wicked smirk of utter triumph, he left Q’s office without a further word.


	156. Chapter 156

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established relationship 00Q fluff: Bond notices that Q has problems adapting to cold weather and he always seems to forget to properly outfit himself. I have a personal canon that, traditionally, Bond likes to buy his lovers gifts but Q’s hard to buy for because he likes practical things and doesn’t feel that he needs to be doted on. Regardless, Bond uses the change in temperature to buy Q lots of scarves, he might even go a little bit overboard, but at least it’s a practical overboard. - anon

Q’s fingers had gone slightly blue, and he had lost most sensation in his face. He didn’t seem to notice, but Bond did; the younger man was perpetually freezing when outdoors, but also seemed to have selective amnesia about that fact. The parka was good, but more waterproof than windproof, and the cardigans retained no heat whatsoever.

The scarf appeared first. A long, striped blue and green, the green an uncanny match for his irises; Q picked it up with a rueful smile, the soft material sliding through his fingers.

Bond refused to admit culpability at all costs. Q started wearing it everywhere.

The gloves came next. Kidskin ones, immensely soft, warmer than Q knew was possible. “Bond, you don’t need to get me presents,” he chid gently, fingers running over the soft material.

“Don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” Bond said with a thin smile, hanging up before Q could say another word.

The gloves were slightly less useful; he couldn’t type, or indeed use smartphones, with the damn things on. The next set that arrived were a thin-weave wool and synthetic construction, tips of the fingers and thumb cut off to allow him to type, but keep the rest of his hands warm.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he told Bond fondly over the earpiece, as Bond shot through a door and proceeded to kill three people.

Bond laughed drily. “It’s been mentioned,” he snorted, as he ran from the building, Q wondering how in the hell he’d even managed to _get_ the bloody things onto his desk from there.

The furry socks came on a wet, December evening. Q laughed outright; a rainbow of ostentatious, fluffy socks

“James, you’ve made your point.”

“Not quite; you wait until summer, I’ll have a hot-weather range for your perusal,” Bond teased, appearing in the doorway with hands in his pockets. “I’m thinking a large hat…”

“No,” Q said firmly, a hand flying protectively to his hair. “No hats.”

“Alright,” Bond agreed, smirking as he walked into Q’s office fully, shutting the door behind him.


	157. Chapter 157

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God. When I first asked you that prompt, I didn’t know it’ll end up that big and to think I saw it on my birthday! This just proves to show that you are an awesome writer! Thank you for filling it and I have a new on (it might end up as big as the other one, who knows? Hahaha :)) My favourite song has always been Anywhere But Here by SafetySuit, can you maybe make a story out of it? More power (or prompts) to you! - purebloodalchemyst

The thing about James was never quite knowing if, or when, it would end. Life in suspension, taking a perfect, beautiful moment and holding it eternally, terrified that it would be their last.

Bond was not broken, not in the slightest. He was perfectly whole, and terribly wonderful; weathered, bruised, but for all his faults and pains and unhappy endings, he was a long way from being broken.

Snow spiralled around them in fat, cottony fragments; December in London could, every once in a while, be picturesque. For however long they had, it felt natural and easy and _right_ , in an almost childish way. Life lived from one photographed moment to the next, so still, frozen.

It would be unfair to idealise him; yet Bond invited a certain degree of idealisation. He was perfectly imperfect. Arrogant, narcissistic, used sexuality as a lethal weapon, showed a complete disregard for other people’s emotions on a regular basis. Was over-possessive, terrifying when angry.

Kissed with breathtaking softness, loved with everything he was. He gave Q everything he could. For a day, a week, a year – Q was Bond’s primary concern. Q was loved in a way that was utterly consuming.

Bond went on missions, leaving Q’s shell behind in Q-branch, waiting for him to return. He spent every moment in the disconcerting, odd knowledge that he would rather be anywhere than in Q-branch, without Bond.

It could end in a single moment. A stray bullet to either party, not as unlikely as it sounded. Bond had outlived his life expectancy by years already; he kept alive for every bright, electric second he had, a spark to be extinguished.

Q kept hold of every moment, every _single_ moment. The shitty rain on a Tuesday night, when Q was overworked and Bond was in a terrible mood, when they clashed off one another, and neither left. Or they did leave, but knew they’d come back, because they always did and always would, and always _had to_.

Bond wished he had the strength to leave Q now, before things went too far. He knew he never would, and he knew it was too late. It changed nothing.

They never said they loved each other.

Honestly, it didn’t matter.


	158. Chapter 158

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I love your fills and I think you are wonderful :) Please could you write something in which everyone realises just how young Q is compared to them? - anon

Q was, essentially, a condensed bundle of energy. The kid never slept, never ate, never really stopped; all hours of the day and night, the insuppressibly _active_ form of Q roamed the halls of MI6 HQ.

M wasn’t sure how he did it. To be honest, it was exhausting just being around Q; M found his phone beeping at three in the morning with a message from the Quartermaster, and took to muting his number. M was damn devoted to his job, but _Christ_ , he didn’t have the simple _stamina_ to be awake all hours of the day and night.

Q-branch just found it peculiar, being commanded by somebody that were barely out of their adolescence. Q-branch was becoming a younger department, by necessity, but they were all in their mid- to late-twenties, while Q – their leader – was twenty-one.

Eve, one of the younger active field agents, took one look at him and giggled. He was the same age as her little brother, with the obsessing over computers and light deprivation; it took her a fair while to realise that _no_ , Q was not one of the junior members of the branch.

He handed her a .380 Bersa compact pistol, with a slight smile. “You should be able to hide that in a handbag,” he said simply. “I’ve altered the weighting to make it easier to use; you favour lighter handguns, correct?”

Eve blinked. Her baby brother could barely tell her hair colour, far less the type of gun she favoured.

She felt terribly old.

Bond, quite simply, didn’t care. Q was half his age, almost, all angles and calculated smiles and disconcerting maturity for his physical age.

It was surprisingly workable. True, the age gap did become painfully obvious in popular culture reference – Bond barely knew of any modern performers, books, television, given that he spent his life in the field – and occasionally, through little things like perspective.

They had grown up in different times. Q’s peers were more open-minded, less set; Bond still harboured remembrances of severe homophobia, those caught in a world where he and Q would never have been allowed to exist.  Bond’s family had been quietly homophobic, in a that that settled, internalised in a way Q simply couldn’t understand. His world was very different, a different scope of reference to deal with.

Q didn’t care, and neither did Bond. They made it work. Q called Bond old, and Bond called Q an overambitious child, and it was entirely irrelevant that there were years separating them.

“Try not to break anything,” Q said over the comm. system, grinning. “Or put your back out.”

“Yes, yes, very funny,” Bond snorted, and kicked through a door.


	159. Chapter 159

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This prompt just came to me because every time I changed the radio station the song Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepson kept coming on. Anyway my prompt is Bond does something to make Q angry and as revenge Q traps him in an elevator and plays Call Me Maybe on repeat while he’s in there. For the sake of this prompt lets just say that Bond really hates that song. - blacknwhitecow

Bond knew he hadn’t been _exactly_ reasonable. He could definitely have saved the gun. The razor cufflinks, too; their loss had bordered on unforgiveable, given that they were literally attached to his person. The subsequent row, too, was probably not Bond’s most life-enhancing move.

Q had been _smoulderingly_ angry, and not in a way that promised angry sex and a few smirked apologies. More angry in the sense of ‘I intend to make your life exceptionally unpleasant, and nobody will stop me’.

But really, there was no excuse in the _goddamn world_ for locking him in the lift, and playing ‘Call Me Maybe’ on repeat.

 _… Hey, I just met you_ …

Q smirked as his phone rang. “Yes?” he asked coldly, hiding the amusement, watching Bond over the lift CCTV. The man did not look pleased. “… really? How unfortunate. I’m afraid no technicians are available for the time being…” Bond swore, and Q’s eyebrow raised slightly. He hung up.

_… so call me, maybe?…_

Bond’s head was _pounding_. The song wasn’t stopped. It was on fucking _loop_ , the irritating, nasal, chipmunk tone repeating the same words again and again, unspeakably banal, crass, moronic…

“Q, I’m going to _kill_ you,” Bond yelled at the CCTV camera. Q just sat back in his chair, and literally giggled.

_… and this is crazy…_

It had repeated about twenty times. Twenty times, three-minute song, approximately; it equated to about an hour in a confined space, with the worst song known to man. Bond could honestly say waterboarding was better than this; at least with waterboarding, it had an endpoint, and the knowledge that it wouldn’t _actually_ kill. This, on the other hand, just might.

He could have sworn his ears were bleeding.

“Q, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for absolutely everything. For your equipment, for arguing, for everything demeaning I’ve ever said. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m _sorry_ , but please, find some way of getting me the hell out of here, because I’m one chorus away from shooting myself,” Bond pleaded, slumped in the corner of the lift, almost catatonic.

The music shut off, and Bond allowed himself a quiet cry of relief. The lift started moving, Bond’s eyes tracing the gouges and dents where he’d tried to hammer his way out by any means necessary, or least break the speakers.

He found himself back in Q-branch. “I’m sorry,” he repeated pathetically, Q watching him with mild amusement and lingering anger. His expression softened, wrapping Bond in an embrace, the man surprisingly broken.

Q couldn’t help smirking. That would teach him.


	160. Chapter 160

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Your fills are all so brilliant! Could I request one? I’d like a fic in which Bond teaches Q to grapple. I’d love to see Scissor Sweep or Mount Escape (can be found on youtube by searching the name of the move), though any BJJ moves other than chokes work for me (I don’t like chokes, and if you need a submission, I prefer joint locks.) Fluff, flirting, and/or humour would be wonderful. (Sorry for the bizarrely specific prompt.)

Q was against the floor, Bond leaning over him, between his legs. “Alright. Legs tight, or I can escape by shifting my weight,” Bond explained, darting out of Q’s grip, the younger man slightly flushed with exertion. He returned the original position, Q obediently tightening his thighs, tension over his legs, ankles crossed to keep his guard intact.

He had Bond’s right wrist in a tight grip, right hand curved around Bond’s neck, pushing away slightly. “Unlock your ankles, keep your thighs tight; the trick is not to make it obvious that you’ve moved,” Bond explained. Q nodded, testing it, Bond smiling faintly. “Better. Now. Left leg _flat_ on the floor, quickly, if it’s not against the floor you have no counterbalance and you won’t get me moving.”

Q moved experimentally, raising an eyebrow, waiting for Bond’s nod. “You’re enjoying this a little too much,” he commented drily, Bond smirking, their bodies pressed together. He ignored Q’s word entirely.

“Other leg up between our bodies, aim for my right shoulder,” he explained, waiting for Q to obey. “Now pull with your right arm, scissor your left leg in, and throw your upper body forward.”

Q obeyed; Bond, quite gratifyingly, was on his back a moment later, Q above him with an almost-childlike expression of joy. “ _Ha_ ,” he said brightly. “Presumably arm bar-thingy or choke from here?”

“We’ll get onto that in a moment,” Bond smirked, sitting up to dislodge Q. “Try it properly?” he suggested, waiting for Q to nod. “I’ll be nice,” he teased, as Q lay back, Bond repositioning himself above.”

“We’ll see,” Q said lightly, with just the slightest dash of arrogance. He took a breath, ankles locked, preparing. Bond stayed above him, his expression neutral, unreadable.

Q moved as fast as he could; Bond shifted backwards, underhooking Q’s right arm and flattening his weight on Q’s right knee, the younger man pinned, legs caught. “ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered, as Bond moved off him. “Again.”

Bond moved back into position. “Get your right knee up as a priority, it’ll throw my weight,” he advised, Q’s thighs tight around his torso. Q thought hard, darting his leg around and pushing up between their bodies, left leg coming in hard; he had some leverage, Bond nearly falling back.

To Q’s annoyance, he found a way to get his elbow on the floor, left foot forming a steady base, stopping Q from moving in any further and retaliating, rendering Q immobile once again. “Not fair, I did that right,” Q muttered petulantly, rolling his shoulders as Bond moved off him.

“You did, but not really fast enough,” Bond grinned. “You told me not to go easy.”

Q stopped himself from swearing, single-minded determination flickering in his eyes. “Again.”

Bond was still smiling as he settled into position, Q locked around him, the younger man’s eyes frighteningly bright.

He stiffened on instinct as Q pulled him in for a bruising, lovely kiss. The fractional second of distraction was enough for Q to move, Bond thumping onto the ground next to him with Q above, shifting to an armbar position a second later. “That’s cheating,” Bond said simply, eyebrow raised, lips tingling with Q’s kiss. “And really, I hope you won’t be kissing _all_ the people who try to assault you.”

Q leaned in, breathing tickling Bond’s cheek. “Only certain ones,” he said softly, and moved back.

He didn’t lose the smug smile for _hours_.


	161. Chapter 161

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a fic where all of the world’s electricity goes out at once which sends Q into panic and then Bond has to calm him down and figure out a way to find an alternative to electronics? (PS: LOVE your fics!) - anon

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Q swore, face utterly white. “James, _James_ , I don’t know what to do,” he panicked, almost in tears. “We have active missions, agents out across the world, and there’s nothing. No electricity. I can’t even gauge how far-ranging this is; we can’t get anywhere. I mean _fuck_ , we need to somehow get out of here, which is going to be fucking hard without _electromagnets_ to lift the _very heavily weighted door_.”

“Q,” Bond interjected, spinning a hysterical Q around to face him. “ _Calm down_.”

The young man was tearful, trembling, face frighteningly pale, settled in front of a lump of plastic and metal and wires that was utterly, completely useless without any power. “Bond, I’m frightened we won’t get out,” he admitted, in a quiet, tremulous voice. “When everything started getting… when the news started coming in, I locked us down, I thought it was MI6 related. By the time I realised…”

“We will find a way out,” Bond soothed. “You have a floor full of geniuses…”

“… genii…”

“… and a double-oh agent,” Bond completed, ignoring Q’s minor interjection. Pedant. “We will get out, I promise you that – there will be people on the other side too, trying to get to us. It’ll be alright. After that, I don’t know. We’ll need to work out what’s happened, and we can take it from there, yes?”

Q nodded, falling into Bond’s arms, still shaking slightly with stress and panic. “I need to speak to the branch,” he said quietly, clearly reluctant to move away from Bond. “Tell them what’s going on.”

“Stay calm. They need their leader,” Bond advised; Q rubbed the heel of his hands in his eyes, replaced his glasses, glanced at Bond.

He raised an eyebrow, smiled wryly. “Honestly, James. I have led the branch for over two years, I’m relatively accustomed to how to address them en masse in stressful scenarios,” he said, reverting to eloquent, long sentences as his usual mode of control. Bond recognised it, declined commenting, let Q resettle.

He opened his door and walked out into the branch, his mere presence installing a respectful quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said quietly. “I know you are all aware of the situation. I would ask you to remain calm; the situation is recoverable. If everybody could expend their energies in how to move the deadlocked door, that would be ideal; the blueprint hardcopies should be recoverable from the storage room. Anybody who knows Morse code, start tapping through, see if we can’t get communication through to anybody on the other side. Thank you.”

Q-branch started working without hesitation, and Q relaxed slightly. Bond shot him a smile, and Q just nodded. They could deal with it. It would be fine.


	162. Chapter 162

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi again! This idea jumped out at me and it’d be marvelous if you could put it in words for me. 00Q and Time Traveler’s Wife AU. Q is a time traveling agent from the future and he has visited and changed Bond’s life ever since he was a child. (Q is also the reason why Bond is a MI6 agent) The first time they meet at the gallery Bond has known Q his whole life, but it’s the first Q has met Bond. Much love!! – anon

“… the inevitability of time, don’t you think?” the young man is saying, and Bond’s heart feels like it has both stopped, and is juddering too fast for him to keep up, or keep track.

Oh, that ridiculous, absurd boy. Bond had known for years that this day would finally come; he would finally cross over with a Q who didn’t know him at all, had no idea what or who he was.

True, he hadn’t expected that time to be _right now_ , with Q looking young and new and bright, and his Quartermaster. The stupid _bastard_ couldn’t have warned him, couldn’t have _told_ Bond that he would become quite large a part of his life. Time travel would come later in Q’s life. This was where they met, where Q fell in love, found the person he would spend years darting through time to find.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he breathed to himself, as Q introduced himself; the young man’s eyebrow quirked, curious, attracted.

Bond smiled. “Hello, Q,” he said quietly, extending his hand; Q looked at him, crooking his head to one side recognisably.

“007,” Q murmured, aware that there was something he was missing, not quite knowing what. “Do you… do you know me?”

“It’s James,” Bond corrected; hearing his call sign from Q like that was surreal, wrong somehow. He’d known Q forever, across various stages of his life, and he had always been _James_ , Bond if they were at work. “I know you. You do not know me.”

“Oh,” Q said simply, softly. His eyes were wide, the same green Bond knew so well, but so much _younger_ than he remembered. “Then you’re…”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “You know I can’t tell you,” he teased softly, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quartermaster.”

Q’s smile was bright and curious and live, a wire, exposed and raw. “And you, Mr Bond.”

“Still James,” Bond smiled, Q nodding faintly in agreement. “My equipment?” he asked; Q seemed to snap back to himself, the conceptual smile fading out slightly as he reached inside his parka.

The handover was easy, familiar, the tech looking as good as Bond had come to expect of Q. “Thank you,” Q said suddenly, abruptly; Bond looked around curiously.

“What for?” he asked, forehead creasing.

Q just smiled. “I’ve probably already told you,” he said lightly, eyes glinting, fiery and terribly suggestive.

Bond was still laughing as he left the gallery.


	163. Chapter 163

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a 00q demon au? – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm relatively sure this is being continued, but I'll transfer it out as and when. :)

Initially, it was very subtle. Bond was certain he was imagining it, could easily write off the flashes of crimson red he kept half-seeing in Q’s eyes, the faint hiss, the abrupt burn of his skin when Bond touched him.

He knew what it could be, logically. Yet not Q. Not Q.

“Yes?” Q asked, his voice low, sulphurous.

Bond’s lips quirked in a faint smile, suggestive, testing their boundaries. “Let me take you to dinner,” Bond told him, not quite a question. Q glanced up and down him, eyes faintly narrowing.

“Do not get involved with me, 007,” Q said with intense quiet, the words spiralling, dissipating. “It would be a monumental mistake for you; there is too much you do not yet know about me.”

“Tell me,” Bond negotiated, leaning over Q, weight balanced on his desk. “My great secret-keeper. Tell me what could possibly be so ‘monumental’…?”

“Out of my office,” Q told him, the sharp hiss audible, spine rolling in a curious contortion. There was something frighteningly, distinctly inhuman about him. Just for a moment, a thinly veiled moment.

Bond blinked. Ignored it. “I’ll pick you up at eight,” Bond promised, daring Q to disagree.

To both of their surprise, he didn’t.

-

The sex was extraordinary, impossible. Everything about them was impossible. They fell into and out of one another like water through various vessels, unable to stay still, never settling.

“Bond, it is of paramount importance that you do not fall in love with me,” Q warned him, in all seriousness. There was a frightening something in his eyes that Bond couldn’t name, and didn’t entirely understand.

At that stage, Bond was not in love. He knew it was possible, though. He could see it. He could see Q, in all of his various permutations, the boy, the young man, reflected through events and memories and all things, everything.

“I won’t,” Bond said, almost meaning it. He had no intention of falling in love.

Q watched him for a long moment, green eyes streaked with blood. “I am serious,” he said, a little softer. “If you believe you are becoming in any way emotionally compromised, you will tell me. Promise me?”

Bond’s forehead contracted, but he nodded. “Alright,” he murmured, wondering how it could possibly be so important. “I promise.”

-

It happened unexpectedly, ultimately. Bond opened the door to Q’s office, after a mission, returning the equipment. Q looked up at him, and smiled. Just a simple, uncomplicated smile.

Bond knew.

Q did too, judging by the sudden snap of his expression. “Fuck,” he said aloud. “Fucking hell, Bond. I told you to damn well warn me, didn’t I?! You idiot, you absolute fucking moron.”

“What do you…?” Bond asked, trailing off. Q was spasming slightly. For the first time, Bond could not even try to deny it; Q’s eyes were red. Genuinely, entirely red, the green irises swallowed. “Q…”

“Get out, Bond. Get out, get out, get out,” Q shrieked; Bond refused to move, instead moving closer, hand on the burning skin of his young lover as he trembled. “Bond, you have to go. Please. I won’t let you do this, I will not let this happen to you…”

“Let what happen?!”

“I’m a demon,” Q shouted at him, fixing the terrifying eyes on him. Bond felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Fuck. He should have seen it coming, he really should have seen it coming. He had been trying to deny the obvious from the outset.

Demons. The creations of Hell, in the most literal way possible. Cursed creatures, fated to roam around the world; they could stay hidden, remain untouchable, even blend into the world to a certain extent.

Unless a human were to fall in love with them.

“Fuck, Q. Why didn’t you think to tell me?!” Bond snapped at him, already knowing the answer – he couldn’t. Demons could not reveal themselves to anybody other than those they had linked souls with.

They’d linked souls. Bond was linked with a demon. Q was a demon.

The thoughts continued to circle. Q stopped shuddered, the heat from his skin slightly shimmering in a haze around him, eyes utterly blazing. He was angry. This was the conventional reaction of an angry demon. Fuck.

“So…” Bond said aloud, swallowing uncomfortably. “I…”

“You are hooked into my life now,” Q spat, standing, aware of not literally heating up and setting fire to his chair, which was mostly composed of plastic fibres. “I have to keep you alive, or I die. You absolute bastard, Bond. If you die before time, you get sucked into hell, and of fucking course, you’re a double-oh agent. I need to try and keep a double-oh agent from dying ‘before time’. I’d kill you now, if I could.”

“I’m sorry,” Bond muttered, as Q paced. “Really. I didn’t mean to invade your life. You fell in love with me too,” he pointed out, almost petulantly. They only became fully linked once both parties had fallen in love. Q was as guilty as Bond was.

Q turned to him lividly. “Yes, but I noticed that weeks ago,” he hissed. “Why do you think I told you to warn me if you felt emotional attachment?”

“I didn’t exactly see it coming!” Bond argued, rationality apparently taking a backseat in the ridiculousness of this conversation. He was linked to a demon, a bloody demon. He had a responsibility to Q now, as much as Q to him. “We’ll work it out, Q. It’ll be fine.”

“I had to fall in love with you, of all goddamn people,” Q griped.

Bond couldn’t help but snort, as Q accidently set fire to a pile of paper on his desk, and Bond realised Q loved him.


	164. Chapter 164

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi darlings! first of all, I love your blog, and I literally waste all my day reading. OMG Jen! you made my day everyday. Soo…I have a prompt: the Q-branch kidos began with the flu, so Q gets a little paranoid and drink a lots of orange juice, and wash his hands every five minutes, and things like that, even he refuse to kiss Bond sometimes, but he finally get sick and Bond take care of him. :) I’ll be really pleased if you do this. and thanks for all. Lots of Love. – queen-of-pudding

“I am not getting ill,” Q said sharply, dousing everything in the vicinity with anti-bacterial gel. His entire office smelt sharply alcoholic, like he’d spattered paraffin around the place. “I refuse, James. I don’t _do_ ill, as a rule.”

Bond watched Q with outright amusement, the man dissolving vitamin C tablets in a glass of water, downing it with a faint grimace along with Echinacea pills. “Has it occurred to you that you _might_ be paranoid?” Bond smiled, sliding his hands around his lover’s waist.

Q batted him off. “You stay away until I know you’re not a germ,” he told Bond firmly, albeit with a little reluctance. “Until this round of bugs has gone, I’m going to be careful, and you can’t stop me. I am _not_ getting ill.”

-

A week later, and Bond took Q home from work in the middle of the afternoon.

“Fuck everything,” Q sniffled petulantly, and sneezed violently into his hand, wiping it on a tissue with a slightly repulsed expression.

-

Bond installed his Quartermaster in bed with a laptop, brought hot lemon drinks and painkillers, installed a menthol inhaler, made chicken soup – to Q’s undying alarm – and generally looked after him.

“You don’t have to,” Q pointed out snottily, blowing his nose, collapsing back with an emphatic groan. “I’m _pathetic_ like this, hate it…”

“Stop complaining,” Bond chided, picking the discarded tissues up from around the bed, putting them all in a bin by the side of the bed.

Q blinked languidly, eyes pink. “You’ll get ill,” he said, sounding oddly satisfied with the fact for some malicious reason. Bond wouldn’t be able to go on _any_ international missions while physically compromised, Q thought delightfully to himself.

“I wouldn’t count on it, my immune system is rather formidable,” Bond contradicted with a thin smirk, settling on the edge of the bed. He held the bowl of soup in one hand, getting a spoonful out.

Q glared at him, the effect spoiled by his very pink, slightly runny nose. “I’m not a child,” he said through a blocked nose, refusing to eat the soup, suddenly sneezing violently.

“Q, I don’t want chicken soup all over the duvet when you sneeze, and upset it all,” Bond said practically, while Q made noises like a beached whale, driven utterly insane by his inability to do anything useful. “Stop whining, and eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“Bollocks. Eat,” Bond said again, lacing his voice with his _double-oh_ tone, the one he used when he was dealing with a difficult mark, and needed an edge of sheer steel.

Q was usually impervious. Not today, it seemed. With a touch of petulance, he opened his mouth, let Bond feed him soup. “I hate being ill,” he muttered, wiping his nose defiantly with the back of his hand

“I never would have guessed,” Bond returned drily, and smirked as he fed the young man more soup.


	165. Chapter 165

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will you please please do a fic where both Q and Bond are kidnapped? Tied to a chair and what-not, James more so than Q because people tend to underestimate Q. He turns out to be more of a BAMF than he already is and proceeds to kick ass. I’ll leave Bond’s reaction to you. Please and thank you! :) You are amazing! – dream-and-slash

Bond woke up, his body in panic stations, uncompromising even in unconsciousness. He could feel cuffs around his wrists, ankles attached to a chair, body taught and strung-out.

“Bond?” asked a soft, quiet voice; Bond opened his eyes, immediately focusing on Q. The young man looked terribly fragile. His lip was split and slightly swollen, hands cuffed in front of him, not attached to anything at all. He was just on his own, curled into a tight ball in the corner of the room, motionless.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bond said abruptly, straining instinctively; his binds were mercilessly tight, giving him no leeway. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Q shook his head, glancing anxiously at the door, at Bond. He was too young, too inexperienced, for this. “They’ll be back,” Q said, obviously tremulous, almost too much so.

Bond’s eyes narrowed as the door slammed open, inviting four people in. Q gave a dramatic flinch, and a flicker of something started building in Bond’s head. Bond knew fear. This was not quite fear, but something a whole lot more manufactured.

The men cornered on Q, rather obviously. Q was the weaker party by such a degree it was hilarious; he was the bait, the way of making Bond accede to their requests. In addition, Q would tell them all they wanted to know in a matter of seconds, given that he looked inches from snapping already.

Bond could have _sworn_ Q’s hands were originally cuffed in front of him, as the younger man was wrenched to standing by his hair, letting out a plaintive cry.

Q moved so fast he seemed to literally blur, darting into the front jacket pocket of the man on his right and pulling out a handgun, shooting him, and his fellow, in a few deft movements. Another grabbed Q’s other wrist, twisting it to one side; Q’s body followed it, shooting again, missing.

The twist reached a snap; Q’s breath stalled, and he shot again, clean, the man falling back. The fourth nearly knocked Q over altogether, before Q rammed the gun into the side of his head, following with a neat shot.

He stood back, panting ** _,_ ** clutching his wrist protectively to his chest.

Bond blinked.

“What just happened?” he asked, in suspended disbelief, staring at the four corpses around them and a dispassionate Q, holding a gun that he could evidently use.

 Q collected the guns off the three other bodies, before moving to Bond, uncuffing him deft, practised motions, one-handed. The handcuffs fell off, Bond exercising his wrists in near-disbelief. “Try not to look _quite_ so surprised; I’m an MI6 agent, it would be a little concerning if I couldn’t defend myself.”

“You just shot four people.”

“Well observed. I’ll probably need to shoot a handful more, in the process of getting out of the compound; I would appreciate your assistance, hmm?” he noted sarcastically, as Bond accepted a gun and shifted into a fighting stance. “Splendid. After you, Bond. I’m a little indisposed after all.”

Bond let out a light, dry laugh, and led Q out the door.


	166. Chapter 166

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random idea: Q is not an eater by nature (its not illness related or anything dark). But when his brain goes into overdrive eating is just not on the to do list, but eventually he does crash and burn and Bond has to basically remind him to eat. Would love this to go sweet and maybe a little fluffy in the end. - anon

“Q. You’re not eating.”

“Your timing is, as always, impeccable,” Q quipped distractedly, wheeling between monitors and keyboards. “002, go _now_ , we’re following,” he said into his mouthpiece, twisting to R. “Do we have an ETA on the evac team?” he asked urgently, banging a hand into the desk at the response. “ _Fuck_. James, I love you dearly, but _get out of my way_.”

Bond obediently stepped back; he knew better than to interrupt Q in the middle of a mission. The problem was in that various crises had erupted all around the world, in the space of very unfortunate seventy-two hours for the Quartermaster. Bond had been the first crisis; he had finished his mission, just returned back when he realised that Q almost certainly hadn’t stopped moving in the past couple of days. He looked immensely tired, immensely awake, and it was a fairly certain bet that he hadn’t eaten.

When 002 was finally extracted, it marked the end of the ridiculous panic for Q. His body took precedence over his mind; Bond watched with faint amusement, darting to Q’s side as the Quartermaster passed out in his arms.

Q woke up at home. “Drink,” Bond said firmly; Q looked at him, deciding that it was probably best not to argue. The milkshake was absurdly welcome, paralytically sweet, and left Q with a thumping headache. Bond countered it with water, a banana, and a protein bar.

“You’re angry with me,” he noted, as Bond watched him.

 Bond just rolled his eyes. “You have to remember to eat,” he said flatly. “This is getting ridiculous. _Every time_ , Q.”

“’m sorry,” Q muttered, pulling the banana apart. His stomach hurt. “Really, I have higher priorities…”

“You drink enough tea to sink a battleship…”

“I drink it because it’s _there_ ,” he cried, looking aggrieved. “People know I need tea, so they hand it to me, and I drink it. It doesn’t even _register_. I couldn’t tell you at gunpoint what type of tea I’ve been drinking for the past few days.”

Bond blinked. That really _was_ a shock. Q could define teas from their smell, from the next room. “So… if I were to hand you a sandwich, while you worked…?”

“Chances are, I’d eat it,” Q confirmed, still irritable, and clearly not quite realising what he’d just said. “Wait…”

Bond grinned.

-

Bond employed R as his wingman, if he happened to be on a mission. But it quickly became established that while Q was in a work-related panic, they would feed him; sandwiches, chocolate, protein shakes. A bread roll at one point, when R was a little too busy, and had nothing else to hand.

The best part was, it _worked_. Q was pretty much oblivious to anything going into his system; he knew Bond was feeding him, but was just too busy to care much about it.

“Thank you,” he said afterwards, when he finished a mission _without_ wanting to curl up in a corner and sleep for most of the rest of his life. He wasn’t even light-headed, which was almost a first.

“You’re welcome,” Bond smiled, and kissed him.


	167. Chapter 167

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay here comes a totally different 00Q prompt: Pick up the nearest book. Randomly select three words from different pages within this book and use them to create a story. – lagloriana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! On a purely technical basis, Order of the Phoenix was the nearest book – but it was only there for fic-related purposes, so I decided it didn’t count, and went for If Nobody Speak of Remarkable Things. Unbelievably good book. Jen.
> 
> My words: ghosts, metronome, comfortable. This happened. O.o

It was a simple thing, a little quirk that the world was accustomed to; the simple fact of the ghosts.

Ghosts were not always visible, not to everybody. Only some were able to imprint themselves onto the world enough to remain present, in any capacity. The world was throttled with ghosts, utterly invisible to all but those who sought them out, clinging onto the final shadows of their loves and families and friends, before they were able slip on into whatever followed. There was always a reason for their being there, and it was consistently impossible to know that reason.

Bond was grown used to Q’s presence. The ghosts didn’t speak, they were just _there_. Time ticked on, metronomic, each second feeling too-heavily weighted as Bond grew more and more accustomed to him.

He would go, soon. For now, Bond could live with the comfortable presence of somebody there, somebody watching him, only visible to him. Somebody who would nod towards somebody in the corridor, who saw around corners for him. Mute and untouchable, and beautiful.

Bond missed his voice most of all. He was pale too, of course; the slight flush Bond had loved in his cheeks was no longer there, the emerald of his eyes faded out to a barely textured lightness. Still eloquent, communicative, but – like the rest of him – ultimately mute.

“I still love you, you bastard,” Bond told him fondly one night; Q was settled in the corner of his room, watching with an unfathomable expression. Q smiled, rolled his eyes slightly in a way Bond _knew_ , the expression that told him to stop being a bloody idiot and move on with his life.

Bond couldn’t. As time went on, he began to wonder if that was what kept Q there – his inability to move on.

He missed Q’s voice.

It was a relatively predictable mission, supposedly. It should have been easy. In a sense, it was.

He was shot several times, which hurt like a son of a bitch, and was killing him, and he knew that. He kept his eyes open, seeking Q, seeking a final look at Q’s ghost before he died; Q was a ghost, Bond could wind up a ghost, and he didn’t _want to_. He wanted to be with Q. He didn’t want to move off into eternity while Q was trapped in the real world, and nor did he want to be a ghost, haunting somebody while never seeing Q properly.

It had been over a year. Q’s ghost, keeping him safe, protecting him, comforting him.

His eyes slid shut, and he felt tears in the corner of his closed eyes, his heart slipping offbeat, out of time. Q should have been there. He was dying now too, was so close to death, so close to _Q_.

“I’ve got you, you idiot,” said a gentle, loving voice. _Oh_ , that voice. “Just couldn’t move on, could you? Let go. I’m here, James, and I’m coming with you, so don’t you worry about that. I’m here. Let go.”

Bond released a long, slow breath. His heartbeat was off, wrong, syncopated incorrectly. The light, perfectly modulated, beautiful voice followed him into sleep, into darkness.


	168. Chapter 168

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I was wondering if you could make a prompt where Bond is going to a very dangerous mission and Q is worried about him??? You are such an amazing human being!!! - anon

Q was quiet. That, in itself, was a worry.

Bond had woken to find his young lover awake, clearly miles away, staring absentmindedly at the corner of the ceiling. He moved his hand up, along Q’s side from where it had been resting on his hip, expression soft and curious. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

Q’s grey-green eyes flicked towards him. “No,” he said honestly, not bothering to lie. “I’m concerned about your mission.”

Ah. And there he had it. The reason behind his tangible worry, the way he’d clung onto Bond the previous night, as though terrified he’d disappear. Bond had spent the evening trying to coax it out, and now, _finally_ , he had his answer.

“Q, I know it’s a high-risk…”

“It’s more than ‘high-risk’, James, it’s fucking _suicidal_ ,” Q said, jaw clenching to control the emotion that was rising in his throat, threatening to spill out. “If you make it out without injury, I won’t be simply impressed, I’ll be fucking _gobsmacked_.”

Bond watched quietly, tears tracking down either side of Q’s face, the younger man visibly battling with himself. “I have survived missions with odd similar to this,” he pointed out, keeping Q close to him. “I’ll be alright, Q.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Q contradicted instantly, shaking slightly. He let out a long, broken breath. “James. Don’t die. Promise me that, yes?”

Bond kissed Q’s forehead, trying to convey the sense that he would do _everything_ in his power to keep himself safe. “I won’t,” he promised, as best he could. “I’ve got somebody to come for, this time. If anything could keep me focused on not dying…”

“I’m hoping there is more than my presence to convince you that dying would be a bad plan,” Q said sharply, aware that his anger was misplaced, honestly too caught up in his fears to care much. “James, you have to be safe. You do as you’re bloody well told, and you _stay alive_. I’m not going to try and fill out paperwork to get your body extracted from China, it’ll take weeks, and my Mandarin isn’t very good.”

Bond laughed slightly, Q’s expression hilariously matter-of-fact. “Alright,” he said honestly. “I’ll be safe. Two weeks, Q.”

Q kissed him again, curled against his body with a sigh. There was nothing more he could say.

-

Two weeks.

“Did you miss me?” Bond asked casually from the door, smiling crookedly.

Q abandoned his desk, barrelling into Bond and holding him, intent on never letting the stupid _bastard_ go again.


	169. Chapter 169

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q are stuck in Q’s office for to contamination risk. Both are snarky and have infinite sass. Fluff, smut wherever you wanna take it lol - anon

“So, you decided to test an aerosol dispersion narcotic _on your own department_?” Bond asked, his voice dark, and very faintly amused.

Q groaned. He and Bond had locked themselves in Q’s study, when it became very evident that the narcotic was a _lot_ more potent than initial studies had suggested, and also, just wouldn’t stop spreading. Q-branch were scattered like corpses across the branch. Thankfully, there were no pressing missions.

“I did _not_ ,” Q said crossly, rolling his eyes. “It _split_. I wasn’t going to _test it_ on my branch.”

“Liar.”

“Fuck off.”

Q spun slightly in his chair, watching the CCTV. The narcotic would dissipate, yes, for not for a while yet; he’d had to lock down Q-branch, and indeed his own office. In practise, he was trapped in a confined space with James bloody Bond for potentially several hours.

“Don’t touch,” Q said sharply, as Bond’s questioning hands reached towards something. Bond obediently dropped his hand, half-smirking. “Of all bloody people, it had to be you.”

“Now, now. I could get offended,” Bond commented drily. “It could have been 006.”

“Trevelyan is banned from my office,” Q said primly, expression indicating that he truly wasn’t joking. Bond let out a short, barking laugh, not overwhelmingly surprised. Q raised an eyebrow. “After this debacle, you may be following him.”

“You wound me, Quartermaster.”

“Hmm,” Q said disparagingly. Abruptly, he whacked the side of his computer monitor. “Piece of _crap_.”

“Blasphemy.”

“Fuck _off_ , Bond,” Q snapped at him. “Fuck it. I closed off Q-branch under contamination protocols, and it’s taken my computer with it. That’s just… that’s just _unfair_.”

“So you can’t even work, while trapped in here for the next few hours?” Bond asked, eyebrow raised. Q took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose, lips slightly pursed.

He looked up at Bond, expression cold. “No. Apparently not.”

“You’ll have to pay attention to me, then,” Bond said with an arrogant, insinuating smirk; Q gave a faint wail. “Methinks the Quartermaster doth protest too much.”

“Do not abortively quote Shakespeare in my presence,” Q said wearily, sighing a little. “Alright, then. Get settled, and touch nothing. If you break anything, I will be a _long_ way from delighted.”

Bond smirked, and took a seat. This was going to be _fun_.


	170. Chapter 170

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey Jen, I just read alot of your Bond/Q fics. I have to say that you are an amazing writer. I have a request if that is ok, Can you do a fic where Bond is horribly possessive of Q, and won’t let anyone near him. Oh! and can you do this in an omega!verse? Please and thank you :) - minicheesecakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little nsfw at the end...

Q sent 003 into the field with a request to _not die, if you would_. That was all. There was nothing implied, and all 003 actually _did_ was brush Q’s hand, for the faintest of seconds.

Which, in retrospect, was bloody stupid. Q was an Omega, 003 an Alpha; Bond took one look at the proximity of 003 to his Omega, smelt 003’s pheromones anywhere in the vicinity, and pounced.

Q was pinned into his chair, Bond’s body over him, hand in his hair. Bond tugged upwards, exposing Q’s throat for him to bite, nipping and sucking marks along it, red and purple, ensuring Q smelt of _him_.

Bond smirked as his Omega writhed, whimpering under Bond’s ministrations. “You will keep a better distance from other Alphas in future,” Bond rasped in Q’s ear, pulling the younger man against him, his Omega wrapping around him in thin strings of limbs.

“Yes,” Q breathed, shifting his hips rhythmically upwards to press against Bond’s. “M’sorry.”

Bond’s hands tracked over his body, sliding under the thin layers of clothing to press against skin; Q let out a soft whine at the contact, the press of his Alpha against him, fingers sliding under the waistband of his trousers.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Q whispered. “Please, James.”

The voice was intoxicating. Bond had loved Q’s voice from the first moment they met; it was what had spurred him to take Q as his Omega. The voice cut through everything, darting into his brain and _lingering_ there.

The love for his Omega became suddenly augmented, the voice turning everything curiously clear. He crept a hand downwards, closing his fingers around his Omega’s hard length. “Nobody touches you but me,” Bond said in a low growl. “Do you understand me, Q?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Q whispered, bucking into Bond’s fist. “ _Fuck_ yes, I understand. Just you. Nobody but you, James, _yes_.”

Bond’s hands worked perfectly, knowing where to touch, how to touch. How hard, how long. Q was breathless in seconds, voice brokenly whining Bond’s name again and again, imprinting himself into every aspect of Q.

The pair linked together with every second they spent. Since their bonding, Bond had become intent on ensuring that Q remained _his_ ; he was away on missions too frequently, for too long. He didn’t want to risk Q in those moments.

“Love you,” Bond murmured, as Q came into his hand, spilling onto his chair, the floor.

Q sighed out, sated, dizzy on Bond’s scent. “Love you too.”


	171. Chapter 171

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love your little fics! Could you write one where Q is James’ sub (or something like that) and they have a fight and Q runs out. At first he is too angry to go back and then too afraid that James is angry at him for running. Bond can be angry or worried or both but please write happy ending with possessive kissing! *humble bow* I thank you for your writings! - anon

The submissive aspect had crossed over into every moment they spent together outside of work. The moment they crossed the threshold into MI6, Q was his superior officer and handler, Bond an agent.

They had rules and safewords, get-out clauses, rhyme and reason behind everything they did.

Bond had been livid over Q’s handling of a recent mission. As far as Q was concerned, it didn’t fall under the boundaries of their relationship; Bond had no right criticising Q’s work ethic at home, in the context of dominance or submission.

Q grabbed his coat, and left.

Three hours later, and he hadn’t returned. In addition, he wasn’t sure if he _could_ return.

Bond would be furious with him, over everything that had happened. Over the row, over his leaving, over _everything_.

It occurred to him that Bond may no longer want him. He had gone back on the first tenet of their relationship; no evasion, no lies. They had to communicate, they had _sworn_ they would communicate fully, properly. Q had refused, had run away instead.

Q gave himself a little bit of time to cry, to collapse in on himself and be frightened. Of losing Bond, of losing everything they had.

It didn’t last long. Q made his way back, let himself in. The collar he wore weighed heavily around his throat; he undid the top buttons of his shirt, making the tag more obvious, the link that connected him through to Bond always, every moment.

Bond was on the sofa, hands over his face, eyes slightly wide. He glanced up when the door opened, on his feet in a moment and moving to Q’s side, hand shaking slightly as he reached out to his submissive.

“Q,” he said, voice low with audible worry, curving a hand around Q’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

Q’s heartbeat faltered slightly. “… Are you,” he asked, trembling slightly, his vision blurring faintly. “Are you angry? I just…”

Bond pulled Q close, wrapping arms around the younger man, a hand sliding to the back of his neck to massage slightly, feeling the band of the collar under his fingers. “I thought I’d lost you,” Bond said honestly, kissing Q’s neck gently, keeping his body pressed close.

“Don’t leave me,” Q asked quietly, brokenly, voice soft against Bond’s lips.Bond tugged Q’s glasses off to get them out of the way, clutching them while he kissed Q deeply, owning him, letting the younger man know he would never be simply left behind. Not over something so ultimately irrelevant.

Bond’s voice was a simple, unequivocal promise: “Never.”


	172. Chapter 172

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi Jen! it would be amazing if you would contemplate writing James/Q/Vesper in a triad relationship, maybe even NSFW times? for some reason James and Vesper are always written as siblings and it would be great to see something different! - anon
> 
> AND
> 
> Just found out I got an A* for my maths final today & am on an high, decided to treat myself to a little prompt! hehe (I normally don’t cos you have loads & other people have great prompts!) That anon of yours had a pretty good idea with Q/Vesper/James, please could you write a triad fill, something like Vesper appearing sometime after Skyfall & falls in a relationship with them, only to feel insecure (not ooc) that if she weren’t there there wouldn’t be much difference- no fluff please! <3 - anon

Vesper’s return did not come as much of a surprise, ultimately. Q knew how to trace the ghosts that faded out, those that died or didn’t die, lingering indefinitely. Bond just knew Vesper; she wouldn’t die that simply, that easily.

Q knew that Bond loved outright, easily. He didn’t forget, would never abandon the shared love between himself and Vesper.

It was immensely fortunate that Q could see everything Bond loved and, in extension, found himself loving her too, reluctantly, slowly. Vesper fell into lust, the want clarifying into something more consistent quite quickly.

Bond and Q kissed like they’d known one another forever. It was something deep and passionate and marrow-deep, the love for one another a necessity more than anything else. It killed her, just a little, to see them together.

When she kissed them, it was nothing like that. With Bond, it was all passion and a desperation, the frantic need to keep the other there. With Q, it was sarcasm and sharp edges and wicked attraction, both pricking each other with interest and intrigue and cynical intelligence.

It was brilliant, in its own way. Yet – seeing her James, her newfound Q, she couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing there. They loved each other so much, so tangibly, that she couldn’t help but feel superfluous. They had loved one another before, without her; she could vanish, and they would remain together, she left forgotten.

Q was the one to notice, quite aptly. Vesper’s glances lingering, the deepness of her sad eyes a little too evident; he spoke quietly to Bond, hoping he could help find the cause.

The pair worked it out after a short while, chose to prove her wrong, somehow illustrate that she was a part of their relationship, as invaluable as Q or as Bond. They worked together, existed in tandem. Vesper’s intellect kept Q running, her sensuality a challenge and a treasure, their brilliance linking through one another.

Bond linked strong arms around her waist, pulling her close while Q watched; those two communicated through physicality more than words, and Bond was so eloquent. His lips shadowed along her throat, the intimacy and tenderness speaking volumes.

Q’s eyes glinted, electric, daring her; she smiled slowly at him, and knew he had seen through her. Q could. Bond, for all his glories, was immensely blind from time to time.

“Never think you are not wanted,” Q said simply, calmly. Bond kissed her with a hand under his chin, Q shifting to press with them, their three bodies twining elegantly.

Speaking of love is childish, so they do not speak. They show it. Vesper gasps as Bond’s hand traces down her bare chest, sliding further and under, sure movements. Q kisses her with a hand on the back of her neck, he and Bond symbiotic as they set her body alight, cherish every part of her quite entirely.

Love is breathed and pressed and cried and beaten out in heartbeats, and it is enough.

At least for now, it is enough.


	173. Chapter 173

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a catastrophic mission and losing multiple 00s, Q resigns and disappears, leaving almost everything behind at his and 007s flat. When Bond returns from his own mission, he sets out to find his errant Quartermaster and isn’t returning without him. Once he finds him, James uses everything in his very convincing arsenal to coax Q back to London. - anon

Bond pushed open the door with a serious foreboding. He knew what had happened. The incident had been global; a collection of deeply embedded terrorist cells, working in tandem, with moles everywhere. Four double-ohs had died, another six undercover and field agents; none had been captured, mercifully, but it one hell of a death toll.

Q had resigned, despite protestations and arguments from everybody, ranging from his own branch up to M. He had ignored all of them, and while Bond was still out of the country, resigned.

Bond harboured hopes that he would have, at least, stayed to say goodbye. Instead, Bond was greeted with their untouched flat; Q had taken a bag, maybe, of clothes and his laptop. He had left a single note, a single word and a single initial. _Goodbye. Q._

“You idiot,” Bond muttered to an empty flat, and called R – technically now Q – to help him trace his young lover. He was in the UK, Bond knew that; the man didn’t fly, ever, and couldn’t speak a damn word of French, while ruled out skipping off into the continent. He had to be traceable.

Bond paced. He was accustomed to being told where to go, roughly what he would find; twelve hours later, the new Q gave him an address in Wales, and access to a fast car. “Get him back,” the woman advised, sounding slightly pleading; she had not expected to wind up in charge of Q-branch just yet.

Another few hours, and he was at the given address. He didn’t waste time; Q was already packing to leave when Bond charged through the door in his usual inimitable fashion.

“Q, what in the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not Q,” Q replied, his voice flat, dull. He didn’t look up. “Please go, James.”

Bond pulled the younger man away from his bags, wrists held tightly, Q looking up at him through shadowed, bruised eyes. “You do _not_ just run away,” Bond rasped at him, his own panic, his own hurt showing through. “How bloody _dare_ you?”

Q blinked. “I let ten people die, James,” he said, his voice still that terrifying monotone. “Ten good people. You were nearly lost too. I lost control of everything, and it killed people.”

“Welcome to fucking _espionage_ ,” Bond hissed, feeling anger rise in his throat, subsumed by the grief at having lost Q, even briefly. “You didn’t even stay to say goodbye?”

Tears fell from Q’s eyes unnoticed, ignored. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his body softening fractionally, Bond’s grip still merciless around his wrists. “I had to go, I couldn’t… not after everything that happened.”

“I never believed you were a coward,” Bond said mercilessly. Q didn’t rise to the bait, and Bond swore disjointedly, releasing the younger man. “ _Fuck_ , Q. This isn’t fair.”

“You’ve run away before,” Q pointed out.

Bond’s voice was a low snarl, utterly. “I always came back, and the only person who gave a fuck was M. She knew me well enough to know I’d come back. I never left a partner, a lover, behind. It was a fuck-up, Q, a serious one – but you don’t get to run away. You’re the bloody _Quartermaster_. You have to remain consistent. You don’t get the choice.”

“I _want_ a choice,” Q whispered, half-collapsing; Bond took a step forward, catching the younger man in his arms, anger dissipating rapidly in the face of Q’s distress. “Fuck it, James. I want to be able to get away. I don’t… this is too much, just…”

“I know,” Bond soothed, letting the younger man finally break down.


	174. Chapter 174

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m a big fan of you Jen! I’m craving some angst with happy ending right now! Bond and Q are in danger in some points so to be safe. M tells both of them that another was dead. Bond died during the mission and Q from maybe a heart attack. M can manage to make both of them believe it and arrange their time and location so that they can’t see each other. When the problem is fixed. M will told them later. I really want to see their emotion during a lie and after they know the truth. Thanks! - anon

“Bond?”

“Receiving,” Bond told him calmly, settled back in his hotel room. The mission was currently not, quite honestly, the most successful he had ever embarked on; however, he wasn’t dead, and had a meeting with a primary contact in the morning. “What can I do for you, M?”

M was silent for a moment. “Given the nature of your mission, and your usual levels of obstreperousness, I feel honour-bound to inform you of a development with your Quartermaster,” he said carefully, tactfully.

Bond’s expression was frozen in place. “Yes?”

“Q died of a heart attack, in the early hours of this morning. We have ruled out interference; it seems he had a natural heart murmur that nobody was aware of,” M explained, tone gentle but factual. “As such, we have had to replace your contact on this mission. I will send full details directly to you.”

A moment of silence. Bond’s voice was steady, stripped bare of emotion. “All received,” he said simply, and disconnected.

-

Q hated Japan. He hated field missions. He hated that he had needed to fly to get to Tokyo in the first, and he hated that he wasn’t even allowed to remain near Bond, because it was a security risk.

The mission was not going well, Q knew that. He hadn’t been able to contact James for a while.

When M called, the foreboding clarified. M should not have made contact until after Bond’s scheduled meeting, the next morning. Ergo, something had gone wrong, irretrievably wrong.

Q hated that he already knew.

“Okay,” he murmured, when M explained. “I understand. Forward all information to me, please. I would also like the brief of how he… how it happened, if you would. I will be in touch once I’ve made contact with the new agent.”

“Received. I’m sorry, Q.”

Q didn’t answer. He hung up. He placed the phone next to him, slid under the covers carefully, curling onto his side.

He cried.

A long time later, he slept.

-

The mission ticked through. Q was able to return to the UK a few days later. He sat on the plane with dead eyes, unapologetically downing narcotics, remaining blissfully unconscious for the next sixteen hours. He was still out when they landed; MI6 Medical pulled him off the plane, transferring him into HQ.

Q opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, thinking of nothing as hard as he could.

His face crumpled, and he let out a short, stifled sob.

-

Bond was stoic, because he always was. He finished the mission, and went off radar. Nobody could find how to communicate with him.

Q was called into M’s office. He looked an absolute mess. Four days since he had returned from Japan, and by all accounts, he hadn’t gone home. He had technically been pulled off the Japan mission, now his part had ended. He had shown no desire to monitor the progress since then, was informed by R mid morning that it had finished.

“As I’m sure you’re aware by now, the Japan mission reached a successful conclusion a few hours ago,” M said, watching the frail-looking man with soft sympathy. He would react badly to this, but it had been the only option. “You should be aware that there was a security breach midway, which came close to compromising the entire mission.”

Q looked at him with faint, subdued interest. “Oh?”

“Your relationship with Bond came to light,” M explained, noting the slight flinch from the young Quartermaster. “Q, we had to take executive action. Furthermore, we had to ensure that you two would not meet one another, and would seem to have no connection or interest in one another.”

The green in Q’s eyes turned lethally hard.

-

It took nearly two days for Bond to get tracked down, in a testimony to his ability to fall off the grid; usually, a target could be tracked within twelve hours. When Q finally managed it, he wouldn’t deign to speak to MI6.

“I’m taking leave,” he snapped down the phone, refusing to listen.

“James, for fuck’s _sake_ stay on the line, _please_ ,” Q cried, slamming his office door shut as he felt himself lose control. He had no intention of getting hysterical in front of his branch. “Please, please don’t go, just listen, please.”

He pleaded with a dead phone line, crying.

-

MI6 deployed an extraction team. More importantly, they sent Q with them.

Bond was handcuffed, livid, fighting; there was no option but restrain him, when he was like this. Q knew he would be out of the cuffs in a handful of minutes, regardless of how good the team were; he was grieving, would refuse a return to MI6 unless he saw Q for himself.

“James,” Q said, restraining himself from going straight to him. He stood a little back, battling to control himself, shaking violently as he looked at a very, very _alive_ figure of his James Bond.

Bond looked at him, utterly white. “Q?”

Q moved forward, placing a hand on his arm; the agent flinched backwards, staring at Q with distrust, with terror. “They lied,” Q said simply. “They told me you were dead, that I was dead. I’m here, James. I promise.”

The extraction team looked more than a little worried as Q reached behind Bond, undoing them in quick, practised motions, the metal clinking over the floor.

Bond threw himself at the younger man, bundling him into a tight embrace, half-smothering him. Q relaxed into it, burying his head in Bond’s shoulder as James Bond – of all people – held onto him like a lifeline, and silently cried.


	175. Chapter 175

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your stories, you should won a nobel price!!! Could you make a prompt wherem Q has nightmares about Bond getting hurt? Well James can confort Q…I will let you do your magic :D Thanks!!! - anon

The nightmares were understated little affairs. Bond wouldn’t have even known about them if it hadn’t been for how light he slept; even then, Q was more than adept at concealing them.

Q would wake with a soft gasp, eyes flying abruptly open, often already crying without noticing. He would immediately grasp for James, checking the man was still there, reassuring himself that Bond was alive and safe, that they were alright. He curled himself up against Bond, breathing in the man, fingers tracing to Bond’s wrist to feel the heartbeat beneath, falling asleep to the rhythmic thumps.

Bond woke, one night, when Q was in a worse state than normal. The younger man was swallowing sobs that were like hiccups; Bond was awake instantly, trying to understand what was wrong, if Q was alright.

The explanation came with as much control as Q could manage, crying near-uncontrollably. Bond understood after a few moments, pulling Q into a protective, all-encompassing embrace, arms looped around the man, shielding him from further dreams.

“Shh, Q,” Bond soothed, as the man falling still against his chest. “I’m here. I promise, I’m here, and I intend to stay here.”

Q cried himself into exhaustion, without saying another word.

Over breakfast, Q smiled at him with slightly puffy eyes, the only indicator that anything had occurred the previous night. Bond watched him, waiting for Q to explain, knowing the man would eventually do so without prompting.

“… I have nightmares about you dying,” Q said softly, obviously, staring into his tea. “I… since 005, I keep seeing it more vividly. I can see you, hear you, in that much pain, and I just…”

Bond reached out, hand over Q’s. “Q. I’m not going to promise it won’t happen,” he said quietly, Q laughing slightly hysterically. “Q. Listen. It may happen, yes. But you will _not_ be listening to it. If I get into a situation like that, you delegate out, and you do not listen. _Promise_ me that.”

Q shook his head, looking tired. “Bond, you’ll need me to…”

“No,” Bond interjected harshly. “I will speak to M and get handled by somebody else, if I must. You will not listen to me die, do you hear me?! I will not have you there, if things go wrong.”

The shrug, the sadness. “Okay,” he said softly. “I promise. _Only_ if you promise to not get involved, if anything happens to me.”

Bond blinked; Q could literally see his hackles raise. “Nothing will happen to you,” he said sharply, firmly. Q’s smile widened a little, eyebrow raising a few millimetres.

“Bond. Promise me.”

“Fine,” Bond said, taking it as some form of compromise that he had no intention of obeying. “Alright.”

“You’re lying,” Q noted, and sighed.

-

Q woke up in the night with a soft, broken gasp. Bond curled his body around his young lover, and cradled him back to sleep.


	176. Chapter 176

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been reading old prompt fills and they’re fabulous :) mind filling mine? Fluffy humor, about how Bond and Q started their relationship through dinner ‘as friends’ which becomes a routine that they both enjoy. It goes on for a long while until they realize that it feels a lot like a date, and actually acknowledge their growing relationship. Thanks! – heaventakes

A few months into their odd little arrangement, and they’d become rather used to one another. Q knew Bond’s drink order, and Bond knew that Q refused to eat anything that had ever been near fish. They had a favourite table, for god’s sake.

They were friends. That much was established. Close friends, genuine friends. Q was the person called when a mission went awry, Bond the person contacted on the crowing discovery of a new piece of tech. They mattered, to one another – and in MI6, that was something of a development.

Bond noticed first, curiously. They’d gone back for drinks at his flat, Bond laughing as Q made some daft joke or other, and Bond poured them both whiskey from a bottle older than Q.

He didn’t say anything. He continued the evening as normal, Q crashing out on his sofa as he did every once in a while when they’d both drunk too much and Q didn’t want to negotiate with cabs.

Bond drunkenly watched Q sleep, stumbling into his own room reluctantly, his sleep troubled.

Q realised quite a while later. A very long while later. Almost two months, wherein Bond gave no signs other than the occasional prolonged glance, and didn’t push the relationship to alter in any sense.

Ultimately, Q realised over dinner. Bond could pinpoint the exact moment.

They sat down at a table they were both used to, Q slinging his parka over the back of a chair, Bond catching and straightening it before it fell off with easy familiarity. Q laughed as Bond tutted, rearranging his collar; Q never straightened it properly, it had become something of a running joke.

It was when Bond casually asked Q if he wanted a black Russian, while ordering his own martini, that he saw the flick in Q’s expression. A sudden light of realisation, body instinctively tensing at it tried to process the new information.

Bond glanced at him, smiled slightly, expression faintly querying.

Q blinked at him. “When were you planning to tell me that we’re dating?” he asked rhetorically, looking over Bond like he’d never seen the man before. “That’s… that’s what this is, isn’t it. We’re dating.”

“There’s usually a sexual component at least implied. Not compulsory, but I’d personally consider it preferable,” Bond said fairly, while Q tried to compose himself a little. “Overall, I’d say we are… well, we’re already in a relationship of sorts, it’s merely a case of naming it.”

Q was still rendered mostly incapable of speech. “Are you… alright, with that idea?” he asked, eyes narrowing faintly. He knew Bond was bisexual, but it was still a bit of a stretch to assume that he would have attraction for Q whatsoever.

Bond rolled his eyes eloquently. “I’ve been going out with you – no connotations intended – semi-regularly for the past several months, of _course_ I’m bloody alright with the idea,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned in slightly, his smile faintly roguish, tempting. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, if I’m honest.”

Q’s eyes widened.

Bond pulled Q’s hands towards him, kissing the knuckles softly. Q didn’t pull away, smiling faintly, shyly.

He was dating James Bond. Genuinely, honestly, _dating_ James Bond.

This was turning into a rather wonderful evening.


	177. Chapter 177

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I get an Omega!Bond and Alpha!Q fix? There is not enough of it in my life. – bdbismy2ndhome

It was the bane of Bond’s life: the little quirk of biology that had left him as an _Omega_ , of all ridiculous things.

He was physically an Alpha type. Strong, confident, well-built. Almost everybody had assumed he was an Alpha, until they caught the pheromones; the reactions varied from disbelief to disgust. He was supposed to be a submissive, reticent type.

Joining MI6 had been a godsend. Nobody expected an active agent to be bonded anyway, given that they were not allowed to bond outside MI6 for security reasons. Within that, nobody wanted a cocky double-oh agent for an Omega.

Except Q.

Q had taken one look at Bond, and both had known that it was quite unlike seeing other Alphas and Omegas. Their pheromones were uniquely, potently appealing to one another.

Bond hadn’t objected when Q kissed him, nipping at his neck, gently probing to see if Bond would allow him. Bonding was a reciprocal, almost sacred thing; Q tested the waters, waited for Bond to accept him before prepared to bond properly.

They suited one another. Q was not an archetypical Alpha, either; his strength was in his intellect, not physicality. He had been shunned by Omegas, who sought an overtly protective, physically imposing Alpha.

Q knew how to manipulate, how to dominate. He had a quiet, steely power that overrode everything, made him formidable and beautiful, and the only person in the world Bond could envisage belonging to. He fell into Q’s world with his eyes wide open, and found he didn’t regret a moment of it.

For Q, it was the novelty of finding an Omega who was not a simple wilting flower. He couldn’t bear the reams of spineless cretins that passed for Omegas much of the time, too willing to fall at the feet of a powerful-seeming Alpha.

The pair revelled in being able to subvert every stereotype of their form of relationship, and did so with great aplomb. Bond moved in with Q, they had the paperwork completed, they existed.

Q shifted inside him, the older man reduced to genuine pleas as Q supplied him with sensation, stilling the fire that raged beneath his skin, turning him mad by increments. Q forced him to let go, abandon the pretences he liked to harbour as a double-oh agent, succumb to somebody else.

It was wonderfully, surprisingly _welcome_. Q was never the type to relinquish control – it was an intrinsic, vital part of him – while Bond needed somebody to take him away, make him forget.

They worked. Perfectly and implausibly, they simply worked.


	178. Chapter 178

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai, I have a 00q prompt for you: Q can’t swim and Bond finds out the hard way. Bonus points for some cpr and mouth to mouth. Thanks love n.n – endlesslysherlocked

Q did not fly. He wasn’t especially fond of boats. However, the dislike of boats was outweighed by the terror of flying, hence Q finding himself on a ferry full of assassins, tourists, a handful of MI6 agents in various levels of cover, and little English pensioners heading towards France.

The mission should have been relatively simplistic, and actually, Q wasn’t supposed to be involved until they actually reached the continent. Given Bond being Bond, however, matters exploded far earlier than expected. A speedboat pulled up alongside the ferry, the assassins went into motion, Bond intervened before they sabotaged the entire boat.

Culminating in a group of assassins holding Q at gunpoint to subdue Bond – the Neanderthals had no _idea_ who he was – before casually chucking him off the side. Q hit the water with a rush of blinding pain in his feet.

Q had enough time to scream really, really loudly before he felt water start to rush around him, and promptly panicked, cursing his long-dead parents for never forcing him into swimming lessons.

-

Bond watched. The moment Q was out of the way, he shot the rest of the assassins cell without really caring about keeping cover, or scaring tourists. He shrugged off his jacket, executing an expert dive into the water next to Q; another MI6 agent was in the speedboat that had pulled up earlier, and Bond damn well hoped he had intelligence enough to pick them up.

Q was already underwater by the time Bond reached him, body limp in a way that was terrifyingly familiar. Bond hooked arms around his body, carefully keeping orientated as he tried to bring Q up; it was easy to swim in the wrong direction, when he had sod-all visibility and could feel himself succumbing to panic.

He broke the surface, almost immediately picked up the agent – Bond made a mental note to highlight his competence to M, when they got back – and laid Q out on the deck of the small boat.

“Q, can you hear me?” Bond asked, ripping open the younger man’s shirt; Q looked terrifyingly small, clothes adhered to his skin, black hair stuck against his scalp, splaying in the water. He wasn’t breathing.

Not this time. _Fuck_ , he was not going to let somebody else he loved die, not like this, _not_ like this.

Bond tilted Q’s chin up slightly, forcing himself to calm as he sought a pulse, held on for several excruciating seconds. He leant down, covered Q’s mouth with his own, gave two rescue breaths before pulling back, and starting regular, rhythmic compressions, blinking out half-remembered images of a red dress and red lips and the certainty of being too late.

The agent called for emergency medical evacuation, Bond concentrating all of his attention in on the terrifyingly limp figure in front of him. “Come _on_ , you bastard,” Bond hissed, aware that he was losing rationality. He leaned forward, administering another two breaths, Q’s lips cold and tasting of dirty water, and he _couldn’t do this again_.

Halfway through the second set of compressions, Bond felt Q’s body contract slightly; he tugged Q onto his side in time for the younger man to vomit profuse quantities of water onto the deck, taking in as much oxygen as he could while Bond rearranged his fluid limbs into the recovery position.

He was alive. _Fuck_.

Bond fell back, adrenaline and sheer fucking _relief_ turning him dizzy, a hand over Q’s head, thumb stroking along his jaw soothingly, keeping him safe until the medical team arrived.


	179. Chapter 179

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a little twist on the Alpha/Omega trope: Omega’s can only mate with Alpha’s but there aren’t enough Alphas to go around, so they jockey for position amongst each other and actively pursue and show off their competence in the work place. A successful omega is a true partner not a deadweight. Q may be extremely competent but he’s never believed that he has what it takes to land an Alpha in the looks department so he never tries. Bond happily relieves Q of this notion when he chooses him. - anon

Bond had been waiting to find an eligible Omega for most of his life. Bonding was an important aspect of a person’s life; given that Alphas were somewhat rare, Omegas battled for powerful Alphas the only way they knew how – overt displays of competence, eligibility, appearance.

Q was an Omega, and Bond knew that. He was, perhaps, the most autonomous Omega Bond had ever met. Omegas _needed_ an Alpha, for fulfilment,completion; while many were forced to survive without one, it was known for being a crushingly lonely existence.

For whatever reason, Q was not fighting for Bond. His competence was shown off simply through the fact that he was the Quartermaster; his intelligence was blinding, he was beautiful, would be an absolute honour to have as an Omega.

“So, Q,” Bond said calmly, leant on the edge of Q’s desk, watching the young Omega work. “How would you feel about dinner?”

Q looked at him with unguarded suspicion. “You are aware of my status as an Omega?” he asked slowly, looking Bond up and down with faint concern, and a little trepidation.

Bond smiled. “Yes. That’s rather the point,” he murmured, voice very soft, the implication very evident. “Interested?”

The young Omega looked taken aback, and hopeful in a guarded way that was heartbreaking to see. Bond could see the tension in Q’s shoulders, the instinctive desire to lean into a potential Alpha, seek closeness and the promise of security.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, not quite understanding Q’s expression. It didn’t seem right. Most Omegas would be delighted, practically fawning over him with gratitude and joy. While that wasn’t Q’s scene in the slightest, this was curious.

Q sighed almost imperceptibly, staring at his desk. “Forgive me, but is this some kind of test?” he asked, not quite meeting Bond’s gaze. Bond’s forehead contracted; Q shut his eyes for a half-second, still avoiding looking at him. “I’m not… I cannot imagine I am the sort of Omega you would want.”

“Why not?” Bond queried, before he could stop himself.

Q curled up slightly, as though trying to arrest the desire to reach out. “Aesthetically, I am far outstripped by a number of Omegas. My competence can be equally, my domestic skills are literally non-existent…”

“Q, if I wanted domesticity, I wouldn’t be a double-oh agent,” he pointed out drily. “I want _you_. I don’t know what you’re talking about concerning the aesthetic, given that you’re _beautiful_ , and quite frankly, I’ve never known another Omega with your intellect and most likely never will.”

“But…”

“If you don’t want to, I’ll understand,” Bond cut over, hand reaching out to Q’s.

Skin contact. Q and Bond both felt a shudder run down their spines; connection, un-tempered, immediate. “Yes,” Q said simply, twisting his hand so their palms faced, watching Bond’s fingers slide together with his with a type of reverent fascination. “I want to.”


	180. Chapter 180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is genderfluid, has a fondness for wearing dresses when he’s not at work. He assumed everyone knew, as it was no secret, but James finds out about his boyfriend’s gender identity and reacts less-than-pleasantly. Angst is fine, so long as it ends with fluff somehow? – anon

It simply didn’t come up, to start off with. Q’s workload became abruptly heavier than he expected, affording him little free time in which to indulge his enjoyment of dresses. MI6 simply wasn’t progressive enough to allow him to wear them during office hours, although everybody had grown rather used to Q’s makeup and hair styling habits.

He had never felt entirely at home with his gender. Traits of masculinity became obvious intermittently – more personality based than anything else – and femininity in his gesture, motion, and occasionally clothing.

Genderfluidity was a concept his parents hadn’t even faintly accepted, along with a decent number of people Q met through his life. Q-branch either didn’t know, or knew and didn’t care.

Bond found out unexpectedly. He came to Q’s flat to surprise his boyfriend after a mission, and found Q, answering the door in a black calf-length dress.

He blinked, took a half-step back. “ _What_?” he asked simply, voice closed and cold. “What in the name of god is that?”

“A dress,” Q replied simply, a little drily.

Bond continued to stare at him, Q lingering in the open doorway, words at odds with the mantra in his going _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ with ever-increasing fervour, as Bond continued to mercilessly watch him, expression frozen in place.

Q felt something literally stab into his chest when Bond wordlessly turned, and walked away.

-

Q was curled up in the dress, an oversized jumper thrown over the top, knees tucked beneath it. He felt like a teenager again, the first time he’d come out to his best friend, his family, his first boyfriend.

He didn’t cry. He was a little past that point. The immediate pain died down to a low thrum, the constant buzzing of _well, what did you expect?_ winding through every thought.

The TV was off, but he stared at it anyway, lost in his own head.

His surprise was incalculable when the doorbell rang. He stood, a little unbalanced, walking to the door with a sense of utter disconnection.

Bond stood in the corridor. His expression froze again at the sight of the dress; he guarded it as best he could, watching Q steadily. “It was a shock,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I think, yet, and I’m sorry for that. Can we talk?”

Q watched him for a long moment.

It was the very first time anybody had ever reacted like that, and bothered to come back again.

Q pushed the door open, and stepped back to let Bond in.


	181. Chapter 181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daylight by Maroon 5, ‘Endlessly’ and ‘Forever and Always’ by Parachute, Drunk by Ed Sheeran, If I Never See Your Face Again by Maroon 5, Out On The Town by Fun., The Only Hope For Me Is You by My Chemical Romance, Oh, It Is Love by Hellogoodbye, Arms by Christina Perri. Take your pick and use it as a prompt on any paring you want. –L

Bond leaving was something of an inevitability. The man was easily bored, after all; Q was a transient point of interest, easily discarded. Not forgotten – Bond never forgot – but certainly no long required.

The curious thing was in finding that it simply didn’t matter. Of course, Bond left. Of course, it hurt.

They’d had six months. Six months of being unendingly with Bond, loving in every way conceivable. Q was good at suspending emotion; he had fallen in love with Bond, certainly, but it did not need to be all-consuming. He let his grief linger and fester, knowing it would one day die, as these things always do.

It was alright, until Bond sought him out.

Q knew it was Bond. Nobody else could circumnavigate his security with such practised ease. He didn’t look up; Bond’s breath was warm against him, the tang of blood and low throb of gunmetal, familiar and dangerous and damaging. “Bond, what are you doing here?” Q asked drily, shuddering as Bond’s lips traversed over his collarbone, sternum.

Bond kissed him wordlessly, and Q’s heart broke slightly. Bond had been with infinite women since leaving Q, his body hummed stories of them, but for some absurd and beautiful reason, he wanted Q, and that was enough for a moment, just one more moment.

Yes. Q would have given the world to keep him.

Yet if Bond was the type of man who could be kept, Q probably wouldn’t want him.

 _Fuck_ , Q breathed, as Bond’s body pressed against him, into him, and Q’s vision imploded briefly. He had never expected this. He truly hadn’t believed he would ever have Bond like this again.

Part of him wanted to plead for Bond to stay, to never damn well leave again, to clarify what in the hell the man thought he was playing at to come back, after weeks, after other women, after leaving. To throw Q into another form of sheer disarray, and not say a word on the subject.

Q would never speak. Bond was there. Another moment, another fractional second, and it was something to hold on to. He had never expected to have even this much.

They had gone further than Q would have ever believed.

It was enough.


	182. Chapter 182

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since a traumatic incident, your pick, Q hasn’t been able to get aroused. However, Q keeps encouraging Bond to try as he’s certain that his body will recognize the familiarity with Bond eventually and get with the program. I want the moment that Q’s arousal turns back on. Something completely random and non-sexual, like Bond adjusting his cufflinks, reading the newspaper, etc. - anon

To Bond’s credit, he was ridiculously understanding about the whole thing. Q felt himself utterly absurd, but Bond just soothingly told him to take his time, and it would be alright.

Q had been kidnapped. They hadn’t touched him in any way, barring some bruising, all physical nastiness. The sexual implications had been just that – implications. Yet for some reason, Q couldn’t let go of it, and it had completely stopped him from enjoying any sexual contact with Bond.

Bond shrugged, insisted that it didn’t matter, and patiently waited for Q to recover. It was far from being a problem; Bond was entirely certain that Q would be just fine, with time. Q pestered him constantly, trying to get his body to respond, given that his mind was entirely recovered and just _irritated_ by not being able to have Bond as he wanted.

They wound up on Bond’s bed, the agent painfully hard, Q getting increasing frustrated by his body’s absolute lack of response. Q fell to his knees, mentally completely engaged, loving the feeling of Bond shifting helpless against him, swallowing sharply as Bond’s body shuddered.

Afterwards, Q was forced to concede that he simply couldn’t force a damn thing. He curled up next to Bond afterwards, trembling with anger and upset, wishing there was anything he could do.

A week or two later found them settled in Q’s flat. Q curled in Bond’s arm, drinking a cup of tea, Bond’s arms linked around his front, holding up a newspaper to read over Q’s head. Q wasn’t really reading, was simply lost in his own thoughts, warm and comfortable in Bond’s arms.

Bond yawned, and shifted slightly.

“ _Oh_ ,” Q said quietly.

Bond glanced down at him, kissed the top of his head. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, nuzzling into Q’s hair tenderly.

Q leant his head as far back as possible, tugging Bond into a deep kiss, other hand guiding Bond’s hand to his groin. Bond gave a slightly startled noise. “I have no idea why,” Q mumbled against his mouth. “But I am _not_ going to waste the opportunity.”

Bond placed his paper to one side, extracting the mug from Q’s fingers and placing it to one side. He tucked his arms beneath Q’s body, lifting the younger man up; Q fidgeted, winding up with legs straddling Bond’s body, Bond keeping him supported as they moved into the bedroom, Bond kicking the door shut with his foot.


	183. Chapter 183

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q get turned into cats. Moneypenny takes charge of them until they turn human again and takes lots of pictures, of course. I’d love it if Bond turned into a scruffy tom cat that sits on Q in order to bathe him properly. Any other cat shenanigans are up to you. - anon
> 
> AND
> 
> how is Cat!Q coming along? I need my cat q. - anon

Moneypenny walked into Q’s office, expecting to have a chat with Q, and possibly locate Bond.

She located him, certainly.

Q had been working on an oblong device, which Moneypenny saw after a moment on the floor, by Q’s chair. Her attention, initially, was taken with the two cats settled on Q’s desk.

Naturally, Bond was a tabby tomcat. Scarred, patches of fur missing from various fights, irritable, hissing outright when Moneypenny approached. Q was a pragmatic, black, long-haired effort with lynx tips, and unbelievably large eyes.

Once Moneypenny had managed to stop laughing, she read through Q’s notes, left open on the computer; the technology was pilfered alien technology, which Q had been working on. A couple of Q-branch kids had fallen victim to it in the past, and had wound up as cats for forty-eight hours apiece.

“So, you’re cats, then?” she snorted at Q, who – quite simply – rolled his eyes. On a cat, it didn’t quite have the same effect as usual. “Alright. I’d better get you both food. Litter trays?”

Q nudged, jumped off the desk, stalked behind the door, shooting a look of contempt and irritation and affront; somebody in Q-branch had clearly beaten her to it. She pulled out her iphone, snapping off shots of Q and Bond in situ, quite definitely feline.

Bond started a possessive stalking perimeter within a few minutes, keeping Eve away from petting Q – which was, to be honest, very tempting – by hissing at her until she backed off, leaving Q well enough alone.

Q, meanwhile, yawned expansively and curled into a ball, napping in the middle of the desk while Bond prowled, emanating a jungle cat more than a domestic creature. He got bored after a while, settling down to groom himself while Moneypenny continued to watch with undisguised amusement.

A few hours later, Bond nudged Q awake. Thus followed a frantic feline not-quite-dialogue, culminating in Bond settling _on top of_ a very ruffled-looking Q, licking him thoroughly, rough tongue working over Q’s head while he mewed disconsolately, trying to bat Bond off him.

Moneypenny filmed the entire sequence. Bond bit her, afterwards. She downloaded the film onto the MI6 servers.

By the time Q was back to put a stop to it, the video had gone viral.


	184. Chapter 184

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hiiii :) ive this songprompt in my head for a while. its forever and always by parachute. bonus if you use a line/lines from it. thanks a million xx – anon

The heartbeat sinks into his blood and body, until he is mimicking it, his own body tied inextricably to somebody else’s. “James, are you still with me?” he asked, in a voice that fakes jauntiness, lies that this doesn’t hurt.

Bond is dying. Q know that and Bond knows that, and there is only so much time left. Q holds his hand too tight, trying to keep hold of him as best he can. He doesn’t talk much, just smiles through cracked lips, holding onto Q’s hand.

“Stay there forever,” Bond rasps, and Q’s heart is beating in a way that makes him feel physically sick.

He smiles, presses a kiss to Bond’s forehead. “Just give me one minute,” he says gently, and darts out of the room to make a series of calls. He knows what is needed. Eve supplies one ring, M himself the other, in a show of MI6 unity that leaves many people breathless.

Q gets Q-branch onto finding somebody – anybody – who can conduct civil partnerships. Within fifteen minutes, somebody is knocking on the door; Q doesn’t move away from Bond, just closes around him further, brushing kisses onto bruised knuckles.

They are married in a few simple words. They kiss, Bond smiling without guile or reason. Their witnesses are crying and laughing in equal measure, as Bond makes appalling jokes and Q kisses him, and feels that Bond is fading.

People start moving away hurriedly, noting that something has changed, that the rasp of breath has become too laboured and the doctors are quietly worried, and Q’s hand over Bond’s is trembling slightly. “Don’t you dare go,” Q tells him, in a firm and breaking voice. “We’re going to grow old together, James, we’re not going to end like this. Remember, remember what I said when all this started, me and you, we… I said we’d look back on all this kind of shit, happy or sad or whatever, if this happened, we’d look back and still love each other, yes? Forever and always, James.”

“Forever and always,” Bond echoes, hand just slightly twitching, trying to reach up wipe Q’s tears away. Neither of them comment on the gravity of the fact that he simply doesn’t have the strength.

“Q,” Bond murmurs, voice dying out, and Q’s shaking is now in his whole body and _fuck it_ , he can’t deal with it. “Please, just… remember. Even if I’m not there, I’ll always love you.”

“Forever and always,” Q completes, not even slightly close to being in control, one hand still clutching Bond’s, the other fluttering weakly over the side of his face, trying to hold onto him and knowing Bond was going. “ _Please_ , James, don’t go, don’t leave me.”

“Love you,” Bond mumbles, rubbing a thumb over Q’s wedding ring, the thin band over his finger. Eve’s, because no men’s rings fit him, and they didn’t have time to be picky. Bond is wearing M’s, and everybody knows it’ll never be returned.

The beeping slows.

Stops.


	185. Chapter 185

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I’ve been a fan for a while not and actually asked a prompt under a different name. Recently my dad had found out about my preferences pertaining to the things I read and he actually got mad at me. Is it possible to have a fill that maybe Q has something very very dark/deep secret he’s hiding and suddenly James finds out and it’s up to you how to end it. Thank you. :D – inevitabilityof

Bond found out entirely by accident. He hadn’t been deliberately intruding, or looking for anything in particular; he was just borrowing Q’s computer, and found an open file on the desktop.

He expanded it, curiosity lending him strength as he looked over the report, the name obliterated. There was something not quite right about it all, as he flicked onto the next page, finding a report detailing the behaviour of a certain inmate in a secure prison.

_Acts of cyberterrorism, civil disturbances, conspirac…_

Interestingly, no details on what the inmate had been conspiring. Bond continued to read, fascinated, the story rather compelling; a teenager, caught intentionally damaging international servers for no reason other than ‘fun’, addicted to cocaine, intentionally hacking into and destroying everything they could.

“What are you doing?” Q asked from behind him. His tone was cold – icy, in fact – but there was underlying thread of something else, something vulnerable and terrified.

It was that tone that made Bond finally piece the puzzle together.

His voice was quiet. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, glancing away from the computer towards Q, who was utterly white. “You… you did all this. You were in _prison_ …”

“For eight months, yes,” Q murmured, falling back against the arm of the sofa while Bond stared at him, eyes almost popping. “Everything…” Q huffed out a breath, abruptly tired. “Everything in there is true, and it’s me.”

“Cocaine?”

“Everything,” Q repeated, head hanging slightly.

There was a moment of painful, expansive silence.

Q glanced up through his fingers. “It was a long time ago,” he murmured, looking past Bond to the screen, to reports of a person he hadn’t been in years. “I’m loyal to Britain, now, and I don’t intend to harm anybody.” Bond was utterly silent. “James…”

“Not right now,” Bond replied, taking a breath. “Just… you’re clean, yes?”

“Have been for four years,” Q replied, not offended by the question. “My record is clean, and I swear, I’ve had all the testing. I’m not a threat, not any more. I was a child, then. Too much knowledge and no actual intelligence.”

Bond watched him through too-blue eyes, expression slightly hard. “This will take time to adapt to,” he warned, barely blinking.

Q didn’t argue. His past hung over him, swollen, poisonous; he just hoped – as Bond’s chin rested on his linked fingers, eyes seeing nothing – that Bond would understand.


	186. Chapter 186

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I know that your are busy with other fills, but I would like to run this one by you. Q is sent out on his first undercover field mission with none other than double-oh seven. When their cover is blown due to a mistake made by Q, they must retreat to a safe house. During their time there Bond, increasingly agitated about having to run, taunts Q for his lack of competence in the field. Q takes it all silently, crumbling inside. When the safe house is attacked Q proves his strength. Thanks! - thaliag2

“… You do realise this is indicative of total _fucking_ ineptitude on your part?” Bond continued, pacing up and down the safe house, speaking in long strings of ranting fury. “I don’t know what the hell M was thinking, letting you out in the field when you clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing. _Children_ on missions, fucking _nightmare…_ ”

Q was sat on the stairs, laptop in his hands, exceptionally silent. He hadn’t said a word since they’d moved out; the mission was gone now, blown entirely out of the water through paper errors, a trail linking the pair back to MI6.

Now, they were in a safe house that wasn’t overwhelmingly safe, an exceptionally irate double-oh agent pacing, swearing too-fluidly with absolute, impossible fury. Misplaced anger was being channelled at Q, just Q, who was trying to stop himself shaking as Bond continued to rail at him.

He didn’t argue back. It had been his mistake. He could have avoided all of this, but he’d let a ball drop, and the rest had followed shortly afterwards.

He typed quietly, trying to remain inconspicuous as Bond slammed a fist into a doorway, and Q jumped violently at the noise.

“Bond, man the back door, if you would,” he said, with as much calm as he could muster, cutting over Bond’s ceaseless anger. “We have four assailants.”

Bond looked at him with a faintly contemptuous expression. “And what will you be doing, while I cover your arse?”

Q glanced up at him with considerably more bravado than he felt, pulling a handgun out from inside his jacket. “Covering yours,” he replied, holding eye contact, hand shaking slightly as Bond glared at him.

The sigh of relief when he finally left to cover the back was immense. Q stood; he had never killed anybody before, but he was a damn good shot, and these were _his_ guns. He breathed deeply, slowly, preparing himself before everything turned to hell.

Bond, meanwhile, was already busy; he saw a movement in the back garden, and opened fire. Two people were dead in seconds; the other two were lingered, no longer visible.

There was gunfire behind him, and he glanced on instinct; Q was not the type to survive a goddamn fire-fight unscathed. “Eyes forward, Bond, the hedge on your left,” Q yelled at him, glancing at his phone, a gun in his other hand, shooting through the kitchen door.

Bond obediently looked over, firing two shots; behind him, Q abruptly moved, firing his gun pretty much over Bond’s shoulder, catching the final assailant through the forehead in a very neat bit of shooting.

Q moved back, sighing slightly. “I just killed… six people, I think,” he mused, looking at the gun in his hands. “Should I be a little more affected? Actually, you know, put that on hold a moment: Bond, you will not _ever_ treat me like that again, do you understand me?”

“I…”

“This is not an argument, this is a statement,” Q clarified. “I do not have your field experience, but I am a damn good agent. Given your track record, you are hardly qualified to criticise. Keep you temper in check, Bond, or I will make your life unpleasant.”

The bubble in his chest exploded into sheer bloody _victory_ , as the MI6 extraction team arrived, naturally just after the nick of time.


	187. Chapter 187

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrible day … prompt : Bond and Q are couple. The foster family where Q grew up really hate him… After many years, he still has trauma and nightmares. He hates when someone screams. So…James have a very bay day.. hurt!Q, protective!Bond. child abuse/angst/hurt/comfort. Please “happy ending”. Thank you.. - shipimpala

It wasn’t Bond’s fault. Q knew that.

Bond couldn’t have known that everything he’d done – from the door slamming, to the profuse swearing, to the slight stench of alcohol – would trigger a flashback of monumental proportions, Q’s worst in a very long time. Bond couldn’t have anticipated the way his lover suddenly flinched, skin fading out to an ugly grey as he sank into panic, winding up in a foetal bundle at the foot of the sofa, crying very gently, in the manner of one who was used to the tears.

The moment Q tipped off the sofa, Bond knew something was wrong. Up to that point, he was so wrapped in his own anger that he’d barely been capable of seeing more than a foot in front of him, far less notice that his lover was falling headlong into a panic attack.

Q let out a soft whimper when Bond touched him, flattening back against the sofa as though he could meld with it, not fighting back, just trying as hard as he could to disappear. “Q,” Bond said quietly, not moving his hand from where it rested on Q’s forearm. “Can you look at me?”

There was no response for a long moment. Bond had dealt with panic attacks like this before; somebody regressing so far into themselves that nothing could find them, no hurt or pain or fear.

Eventually, Q’s shaking stilled a little. He lifted his head, cowering incrementally from Bond’s gaze, enough of his usual self established for a flicker of self-hate to cross his expression. Q hated being weak. This undermined everything he tried to establish about himself.

It took a long while of coaxing for Q to finally, _finally_ talk. He spoke slowly, slightly broken sentences, forming a story of a past wherein tangible anger translated to pain. Q had not been wanted, had been absorbed into a unit of people who despised him; they had taken everything out on him, unable to defend himself with more than occasional clever words which he quickly learned made matters worse.

Bond’s initial response was in anger. He swallowed it as best he could, his touch gentle as he tried to coax Q out of the bundle he’d formed of himself. Q melted by fractions, eventually seeping into Bond’s embrace, tears sliding expressionlessly down his cheeks as Bond held onto him.

“I’ll never hurt you. You know that, yes?” Bond asked, brushing a kiss onto the top of Q’s head.

Q nodded, very slightly, and nuzzled into the warmth of Bond’s arms.


	188. Chapter 188

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a prompt where Q and james are together and Q’s best friend, who has been away for a while come back and she and Q are close and affectionate (bond has issues being affectionate with Q) and james get jealous ??? - acelily

“Mind coming out for drinks tonight?” Q asked, biting his lip in a way Bond adored as he typed, clearly concentrating. He didn’t wait for a reply. “Only, a friend of mine from uni is back, she’s been living in France for a few years; I’d like to catch up, introduce you two.”

Bond shrugged. He couldn’t see the harm.

-

After an hour with Vanessa – a lovely women, intelligent and funny and sharp – he conceded that this was not his favourite of ventures out with Q.

Q was a tactile human being, Bond knew that. He liked to be held and looked after; words were easily used and discarded when one worked in espionage, action held a lot more sway, especially given that Q was uncannily good at reading subtleties of body language.

Bond tried, he truly did, but it didn’t come easily. He was accustomed to intimacy being almost purely sexual; affection, the pseudo-domestic ability to touch and brush and linger on somebody in a way that was purely innocent – it was weird, to him, nowhere inside his scope of experience.

It was surprisingly, acutely painful. Vanessa and Q touched without even thinking on it; they hugged when they met, Vanessa pushing through Q’s hair with a mocking smirk at the messiness, Q brushing Vanessa’s hand as he asked what drink she wanted.

Q adapted a lot for him, clearly. Bond had always known he was tactile, but seeing him with Vanessa made it ever more apparent; Q liked the contact, and did so instinctively. Bond felt a stab of guilt, as he realised that Q changed quite so much for him; Q found this instinctive, that much was obvious.

Over the course of the evening, Bond found it harder and harder to watch their easy intimacy. He should have had that with Q. Vanessa was a close friend, one Q had hadn’t seen in years – and they were closer, physically, than he and Q ever were.

Bond started reaching out, testing out how it felt to make gentle contact. No implication or suggestion, just simple touch.

Q glanced at him in surprise, shot him a quiet, delighted smile. Bond returned it, caressing Q’s elbow gently before pulling back.

Vanessa hugged Bond goodbye at the end of the night, and Bond returned it with a very good attempt at confidence. Q watched with interest, a little bit of confusion.

As they walked home, Bond fought with himself. He didn’t do this kind of intimacy. He didn’t do relationships where he could be free to touch and feel and speak as he liked, without having a mask of some description.

It took a few minutes.

Q smiled with sheer, unmitigated happiness as Bond’s hand nudged his, their fingers lacing together in a loose tangle.


	189. Chapter 189

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond, Q, and Kincade. Bringing the boyfriend home for approval. Or whatever seems to work - I just really miss Kincade in the fandom. Thank you! - thistlemile

Skyfall Lodge was a surreal place. It had all but destroyed in the fire, but the grounds were relatively extensive, the church had survived; Kincade was exactly renovation and rebuilding works across the site, trying to capture a new idea of Skyfall for the twenty-first century, while mostly just maintaining the grounds.

He lived in a side-building off the lodge, with a hacked-off shotgun and a lot of gardening equipment. Bond came down to visit, mostly to check whether the man was dealing with everything that had happened and – more importantly – show Q where he had grown up.

“James!” Kincade said with a nod, smiling at Bond.

“You’re looking surprisingly alive,” Bond said appreciatively. “Meet Q.”

Q smiled, extending a hand out to the gamekeeper. “Kincade?” he said with a smile, feeling curiously shy, now he was in Bond’s birthplace, crossing into his life. Kincade nodded, shaking Q’s hand with a muffled smirk. “Q.”

“Parents weren’t all that inventive, huh?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

Bond laughed, Q following suit; he couldn’t help but feel out of place, even with Bond’s arm linked around his waist in an act of relative intimacy. “So,” Kincade noted, looking over their rather self-explanatory posture. “I’m guessing you two aren’t just colleagues, huh?”

Q cursed his blood vessels by managing to blush, and Bond just snorted a little. “My other half,” Bond nodded, with a glance towards Q, smiling gently as Q gave a spasmodic type of shrug.

Bond was trying very hard not to laugh; Q couldn’t be more out of his depth if he tried. He was – for perhaps the first time – grateful for having no family Q would have to meet; evidently, Q was simply not good at it. “Can you shoot like him?” Kincade asked; Q glanced to Bond, forehead contracting, abruptly laughing.

“ _Christ,_ no,” he laughed, looking between Bond and Kincade. “No, I make guns though, if that helps.”

Kincade nodded, glancing the skinny boy up and down in an outright assessment, before looking again at James. He hadn’t seen much of the boy over the years, but remembered the look a young boy had got in his eyes were he was happy; it was nostalgically good, to see it again.

“You look after him,” he said to Q, with a glance at Bond. After all, the man had burned down Skyfall Lodge, last they’d met. Several people had died.

Q grinned, Bond’s arm strong around him. “I’ll do my best.”


	190. Chapter 190

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about 00Q is in abusive relationship, but James is the victim of Q. Say he has quite a temper, especially after James’ mission with all the girls. No one in mi6 knows coz they thought the wounds came from his mission. Cue Mallory to the rescue - anon

Q curled up on the sofa, crying softly into his hands, knees tucked up to his chest; he seemed to vanish into the corner, a tiny, breakable being, hemmed in on all sides by cushions.

Bond sat down next to him, gently pulled the sobbing young man into his arms. He hushed Q as he started to apologise, brushing kisses into the unruly mess of curls, the fragile boy crying himself into exhaustion, falling asleep in Bond’s arm.

-

Nobody noticed because really, it seemed unbelievably implausible. Bond was a trained double-oh agent with a kill count in several digits, and Q was a wiry, skinny thing who looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over.

Medical found it first, of course; the injuries that didn’t correlate with missions, curious abrasions and marks that didn’t seem to quite fit. M glanced over the reports with an eloquently raised eyebrow, and quietly pondered what in the hell was going on.

He spoke to Q first; he and Bond had been together for a long while, was probably the best person if one needed information about Bond. The young man looked genuinely appalled, eyes wide, expression twisted up; M sympathetically told him that it wasn’t his fault, that Bond was clearly engaging in some form of dangerous activity off-radar.

Q glanced up, green eyes clouded with worry, and nodded.

Bond himself revealed a grand total of nothing.

Tracking agents in their spare time was not precisely allowed, by MI6 rulebooks. Had it not been for M’s genuine worry that Bond was involved with something that could damage MI6 interests, he wouldn’t have looked.

All MI6 flats were bugged for security reasons, and M was no slouch with computers. He was able to find the security feed from the private bugs MI6 had installed, and ended up watching one of the most profoundly disturbing things he’d ever witnessed.

The wire, skinny form of MI6’s Quartermaster was screaming, in an emotional and hysterical and completely uncontrolled way. There was no audio, but it hardly looked like Q was pulling punches from Bond’s understated, soft responses. After a relatively short while, it deteriorated to physical violence. Q was thin, but strong, and knew precisely where to aim.

Bond just took it, until Q ran out of energy and collapsed in a pile of strung-out tears. The younger man curled into himself, racked with hate and horror and contempt for his own actions.

M watched with mild disbelief, as Bond wrapped the younger man in his arms, lips fluttering with sweet nothings even as he winced at needing to move.

Something needed to be done, as a point of urgency. M summoned Bond to his office, explained that he was aware of the situation between the agent and MI6’s Quartermaster. He went on to carefully explain that something needed to be done. It was not M’s place to interfere, but he certainly would, if matters stayed as they were.

Bond nodded sharply. Asked if he was dismissed. Anger and humiliation was almost palpable, glinting through the man’s skin.

“Deal with it, or I will,” M said quietly, and let Bond go.


	191. Chapter 191

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’m a fan. I’ve sent a question for you about a fic prara write, nothing more so far, so I’ll ask repitir oq I just hope this time you have to post the idea: Q and Bonde are living together, married, dating whatever it is your choice, nest story men can get pregnant and it was Q 9 months of pregnancy, the fact that both he and Bond’s MI6 hide. Q was having false contractions during the week, finding q is nothing it will work but he ends up having the baby there just when Bond (who was on a mission) arrives in time to not only help but also witness the birth of the child, Qualdo M learns of a woman scolding them for having hidden most are happy for the two. – tsu-chan12

Q gave a sudden hiss of pain, body contracting inwards with a sharp stab. Bond’s voice, on the other end of the comm. system, turned sharp. “Q? Q, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Q lied, hand over his slightly distended stomach; he’d been ridiculously lucky, with the pregnancy, to not show tremendously. Clever tailoring, and avoiding active missions, had meant that concealing that he was quite heavily pregnant had wound up being easier than he anticipated.

Bond was on a mission in Germany; he was due back in a day or so, and Q was already making plans to ensure he didn’t get sent on any for the month or so after that. Q was rather keen on having Bond around when he went into labour, rather than trying to wait for the man to get back from god-knew-where.

False contractions tended to begin a week or two before genuine labour; by Q’s estimations, that didn’t give him long before he actually started giving birth.

He wasn’t planning on telling Bond that.

R, who was lingering in Q’s doorway, looked him up and down, eyebrow raised. Q glared at him outright, daring him to say anything. “Would you like me to speak to Medical?” R offered, with the faintest of smirks.

Q felt wetness between his legs, in a move of cosmic irony that was just unreasonable. His waters had broken. “… yes, that would be splendid,” he told R, with a forced smile. R didn’t ask what was wrong. She just rolled her eyes slightly, head shaking as she went to call down a Medical team.

“Q?”

“James… I don’t want you to be worried,” Q told him, gritting his teeth suddenly with a sharp intake of breath. _Fuck_ , but it hurt. “… but it would seem that I’m going into labour. Right now.”

“That’s early.”

“Try telling our child that,” Q quipped, feeling more in shock than anything else, relaxing at the contraction left him again. “James…”

“I’m on my way.”

-

Q had been installed in Medical, with a collection of staff who were profoundly confused, and relatively irritated. The Quartermaster had somehow managed to circumnavigate his annual medical examination, coming up clear of anything important despite being _three months pregnant_ at the time.

Now, they were debating giving Q an epidural, as the man swore in more languages than most people knew existed, mostly aimed at his absent partner.

Bond flew into Medical, to find M and Moneypenny waiting for him. Moneypenny just looked politely incredulous, M bordering on homicidal. “You are aware that…”

“Not right now,” Bond said curtly, pushing into the private room where his lover was currently shrieking in pain. He moved directly to Q’s side, scooping his hand in his own, murmuring nothings.

Q barely registered beyond the simple thought of _thank god_ , squeezing around Bond’s fingers, yelling out in a way that was really not particularly elegant as he tried to get a baby out of his body.

Moneypenny winced in sympathy at Q’s pain, M just rolling his eyes; when it finally stopped, Q calming down, the room taking on quiet calm, she looked in through the window. “ _Oh_ ,” she breathed.

Bond nodded, when Moneypenny knocked gently on the door; she smiled in quiet delight, looking at Q’s exhausted, sweat-slicked form, Bond standing guard – and a baby, impossibly small, cradled in Q’s arms.

M relented. He would need to have short, sharp words with both of them about ‘honesty’ and ‘concealing important information’, at some stage.

As Q smiled with wondrous joy, Bond kissed the top of his head, gentle hands curling over Q’s to support the tiny form of their new baby.

It could wait. Everything else could wait.


	192. Chapter 192

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh man I love how youve been portraying Q/007 and I want to put a spin on things!Q is crushing on a quirky barista at the starbucks from across MI6 and hes so helpless; Bond has placed himself as Q’s unofficial father figure does background checks & always chats the girl up and tells her about Q and he’s a terrible wingman that’s it 007 is the ultimate playboy but the worst WINGMAN; the girl is a quirky girl with braces who works at starbucks for her Uni fees and is interested in Metaphysics - anon

Q’s head was pillowed on his forearms, one hand waving uselessly, a cardboard cup of Starbucks tea standing in front of him. Bond took one at him, and snorted. “It’s the Starbucks girl again, huh?”

The Starbucks girl. She was only there at weekends and some evenings; Q had gone to find some decently made coffee – contrary to popular belief, he was quite fond of the stuff from time to time – and fallen, head over heels, for the barista that all of MI6 now knew as ‘The Starbucks girl’.

Bond had done all the research: a student of politics and philosophy, worked evening and weekends in Starbucks, had corrective orthodontics for a prominent jaw.

“I tried to flirt using metaphysics, wound up arguing existentialist theory and misquoting Nietzsche,” Q mumbled, groaning eloquently, literally bashing his head against the desk. He looked up, glaring at Bond. “She asked about you,” he shot accusingly.

Bond winced. Not the greatest of signs.

“Are you physically able to _not_ flirt?” Q asked rhetorically, looking at his tea and whining slightly. The girl was going to end up with Bond, not him. It was ridiculously unfair.

With a quiet sigh, Bond sympathetically reached out a hand to Q’s shoulder. “Here’s a novel idea: just _ask her out_.”

Q looked at him in faint confusion, almost anger. “I’m sorry, did you not hear the part where my version of _flirting_ involved Nietzsche?!” he asked rhetorically, arms flailing. “Bond, I can’t do this. I can’t flirt. I just can’t.”

Bond rolled his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Q said, suddenly quieter, letting out a soft whine as he collapsed back onto his arms. His voice was slightly muffled as he muttered: “I’m doomed.”

-

She was very pretty, in an understated kind of way; it was the kind of beauty Bond called ‘honest’, in his head. No need to drown in makeup, or make herself into something unrecognisable. Intelligent and sharp, not overly loud but not cripplingly shy, either. Really, Bond wasn’t surprised that Q had fallen for her.

As he ordered various bits of espresso and tea and frappucinos – deciding to treat the whole of Q-branch, in trying to get Q laid – he spoke about Q. Repeatedly. He turned off every flirtatious vibe he may or may not have had in the past, and just waxed lyrical about Q.

He was relatively sure the girl through he was gay, by the end of it. He sighed slightly, picking up cardboard holders of drinks with a slightly weary smile. “Tell him to just ask?” she suggested, a teasing glint in her eyes. “I’m here until closing time.”

-

Bond was sat in his flat, drinking straight whiskey and watching junk television, when his phone rang. _Mission_ _successful – Q_.

The agent just stared for a second, and laughed.


	193. Chapter 193

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I have this crazy idea, that’s probably a little AU from Q’s Skyfall character but…What if Q was actually a 00 too? Like, he has a license to kill, but he’s such a damn good Quartermaster that MI6 only has him do his 00 duties when necessary? (Maybe he’s a great Quartermaster because he has the field experience to guide him?) And Bond is completely shocked when he finds out? :D Thank you! You are amazing! :] – blueskycloud9
> 
> AND
> 
> Everyone in MI6 knows that Q used to be the best 00. Except Bond. - anon

Q may have disliked flying. It didn’t make for an ideal trek to Tokyo, but it was manageable, with Bond force-feeding him sedatives and letting the younger man sleep. Halfway through, Bond was relatively convinced that Q was going to be the worst idea in known history, as far as fieldwork went.

That was, until the moment they were caught at gunpoint. Bond was aware that he would be relatively useless solo, with the number of assailants; he had therefore been shocked, beyond all measure, by finding Q with a semi-automatic pistol, looking utterly unflappable.

“Go left,” he said, in the calm tone that Bond was accustomed to in his earpiece; he obeyed on reflex, only half-hearing the sounds next to him.

When they rendezvoused a few minutes later, Q looked even less ruffled than Bond, not a spot of blood on his cardigan, which was more than Bond had managed. “How in the hell did you do that?” Bond asked, sounding a little irate.

Q raised an eyebrow, managing a faint smirk. “Bond, you can be remarkably slow, for an ostensibly intelligent agent.”

“You have high-level combat training, have just killed four people without the slightest hesitation or reaction,” Bond stated, feeling unerringly irritated by Q’s self-satisfied nod. “I’ve not seen marksmanship like that on anybody other than agents.”

The smirk grew. “On double-oh agents specifically, actually,” he corrected, still watching Bond with merciless wickedness.

Bond blinked, clearly not catching up; Q rolled his eyes.

“Did you know that double-oh agents require twenty-twenty vision?” Q asked absentmindedly. Bond looked him up and down, nodded. Q couldn’t believe how slow Bond was being. “My eyesight was damaged in an incident with a flare, several years ago; I started needing glasses. Prior to that, I was one of the youngest double-oh agents ever recruited.”

There was a deep silence, Bond visibly struggling to digest the information. “You were a _double-oh agent_?” he repeated, looking over Q’s skinny body with palpable disbelief.

“License to kill, four years of field experience,” Q said proudly. “Check my file. I may not look the type, but I was a good agent, in my time. Very good with technology too, hence Q-branch welcomed me with open arms; did you not wonder how I tested my various munitions?”

Bond shook his head slightly, as Q reloaded his firearm, shooting Bond a dangerous smile. “Shall we?” Q offered calmly, and led on through to the rest of the building.


	194. Chapter 194

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darling! If you’ve the time or inclination, an image that’s been niggling at me: so many fics have Q feeling insecure or unhappy about Vesper. But Q has a backstory of his own—and it’s unlikely his past would be conveniently dead like Bond’s. So I wonder what would happen if the headhunters bring in one of Q’s ex-boyfriends to work in Q-Branch? Q wouldn’t see a problem, I think, if he was the best man for the job, but Bond would probably be a bit jealous…. - beaubete

Bond felt a relatively unfamiliar shudder run through his body.

Jealousy. Simple, unmitigated jealousy.

Q was wrapped in a familiar-looking embrace with a man Bond did not recognise, and detested on instinct. About six inches taller than Q; the bastard was a veritable giant, amongst the overall height of Q-branch. Attractive, but not Bond’s type, and with a gangling awkwardness that looked like a knockback from teenagedom.

Bond strode to Q’s side, standing by his lover, surveying the new excitement with cool interest as Q excitably introduced him: “James, my _god_ , this is Chris, we knew each other in college,” he burbled, grinning in a way that made Bond feel faintly homicidal. “We dated for a while, completely lost touch…”

The agent extended a palm towards the slightly nervous-looking, ridiculously tall young man, reminding himself that the license to kill had to only be used sparingly. “A pleasure,” he said, with controlled sincerity that naturally wound up sounding anything but.

Chris gave a slightly nervous smile, shaking Bond’s hand. Q – unnoticed – glanced at Bond, and rolled his eyes.

Bond would now proceed to be territorial and jealous, as was absurdly predictable. Q sighed, shifting his weight closer to the agent, the two working in a type of symbiosis as Bond’s arm snaked around Q’s waist, Q leaning into Bond’s broad chest. “This is James Bond, agent 007, and my partner,” Q announced; he shot Chris a light smile, the type they had shared before, one that communicated vast quantities in a single moment.

“You did well for yourself,” Chris commented with a laugh, giving Bond a respectful nod that Bond – quite charmingly – returned. “Quartermaster, and with a double-oh; I’ve got something to work towards, eh?”

Q twisted to see Bond properly, smiling. “He got picked up, he’s a new Q-branch employee,” he said happily, restraining a smirk as Bond’s arm tightened further around his waist, very slightly.

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of one another, then?” Bond asked, with a rhetorical lilt that was an outright, flat warning: _stay away from my partner, or we will not get along_.

Chris looked between Bond and Q, Q’s expression faintly apologetic. “I should think so,” he said, in what was probably a less than tactful move, and made his excuses to leave Bond and Q alone.

“He has a partner and a four year old child,” Q commented drily, watching Chris leave.

Bond twisted Q around, kissing him possessively regardless. Just because he could.


	195. Chapter 195

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh i have one idea for a prompt :) Maybe one where Moneypenny is a relaitve of Q and make the speech to James “If Your Hurt Him, i will kill you” because James is dating Q and Q is very in love. Thanks You In Advance :) - tigrasevaddict

Bond was consistently, terrifyingly wary of Eve Moneypenny; Q found it hilarious. Eve had never explicitly threatened him, but had done a lovely job of shooting him enough dark glares and murderous glances that it was more than enough to make him wary.

“She’ll come around,” Q said enigmatically, and refused to expand further.

Thus Bond stayed the hell out of her way, and Q just snorted from the sidelines. It came to head in the end, of course; Bond couldn’t studiously avoid her forever, or use Q as a buffer.

Eve pinned him against the corridor wall, hand around her throat. If it had been anyone else, Bond would almost certainly have caused serious injury.

As it was, he stayed very still, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, what did I do?” he asked, with a low sigh. Eve’s expression was cold, merciless, as she glanced up and down Bond’s form.

“Q,” she said flatly. Bond nodded slightly. “He is my sibling.”

Bond gave a derisive snort. “I’m not buying it,” he said simply; they were, in indelicate terms, not even faintly the same race. There was no chance in hell that they were related.

Eve’s expression darkened at Bond’s attitude, and the agent fell rather quiet. “We were raised together,” she told him, lips in a thin line. “I consider him my younger brother.”

Bond thought it through, tried to scan through every time he’d seen Eve and Q interact; abruptly, it made sense. “That git,” he breathed, unable to believe that Q hadn’t been able to give him at least a heads up.

Eve didn’t give him long to recover. “Q is very important to me. If you hurt him – mentally, physically, I don’t give a damn – I will shoot you. Believe me, I’ve done it before.”

Bond could have made any number of quips about her aim, about the chances of her actually _managing_ to shoot Bond. Something in her expression gave him pause, made him wonder how many people had hurt Q, when she hadn’t been around to protect him. “I understand,” he said, tone calm, placatory. “Eve, I would never. I promise.”

Eve released his throat, the ruffled agent sliding against the wall slightly. Abruptly, she smiled. “Good,” she said simply, in a way bizarrely reminiscent of Q himself, and walked away.


	196. Chapter 196

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) You make a fantastic job. I have one idea for a prompt. Maybe one where Q is the son of Vesper( she have him very young) and James is dating Q, but Q want to tell him something about Vesper. I don’t know which ending could be great. I let you choose maybe a happy ending would be great. Thank You In Advance - anon

Q was withholding information. Something important. For all of his strengths, Q was a truly abysmal liar, and when Bond asked the right questions in the right order, it was easy to find out where the lie was based.

Thus one night, curled up, exchanging stories about people they’d been and memories from various points of their lives, Bond dared probe into the as-yet unchartered territory of Q’s childhood.

Q winced a little; Bond was not going to like it. In a very serious way. “My mother had me when she was sixteen,” Q said carefully, selecting deliberately words. “My father is unknown. I didn’t know her well, she visited once in a while, but I grew up in care.”

Bond nodded, Q lying across his naked chest. “Who was she?” Bond asked, still probing to find the secret, whatever it was that had Q a little tenser than Bond expected.

“You knew her,” Q conceded, with a slight sigh.

Less good. Bond’s brain started flicking through the – worrying large – number of women who could conceivably have had anything to do with the young man in his arms. “Who?” Bond asked tensely.

“Please don’t get upset?” Q asked pointless; Bond didn’t reply. He refused to promise a damn thing as to his reaction, when it was evidently not going to be good. Q sighed, sat away from Bond so he could look at his lover properly. “You knew her as Vesper Lynd,” he murmured.

Bond stiffened. “She can’t be…”

“I’m twenty,” Q said, eyebrows furrowing. “She looked younger, I…”

It wasn’t possible. It _couldn’t_ be possible

Yet as Bond watched Q, settled against the pillows with fingers splayed over the sheets, he could see her. That wry humour, intensive intelligence, a poise and elegance that nobody could mimic; the child, the goddamn _child_ , of the first woman he had really and truly loved.

He didn’t speak.

Eventually, he stood. He slid out of the bed, shrugged a dressing gown on. Q – who knew him well enough not to ask anything – watched him, almost sadly.

Bond hesitated in the doorway, looking back. “I’ll be fine,” he assured Q, who looked politely sceptical. “It’s a shock. Just let me… let me get around it.”

Q nodded, Bond’s eyes lingering on him for a long, frozen moment.

He walked out.


	197. Chapter 197

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, Can you please write a fic where Bond & Q are greek gods. Bond can be like Zues( cause he has the bluest eyes eva and quite the personality to match). Q could be god of wisdom or sth like that. But it’s all up to you really. Thanks! PS: I absolutely adore your works! – trane178

After several millennia, Athene had really thought Zeus would damn well give it up; Athene – god of wisdom – was perhaps the only being, god or human, who _hadn’t_ yet had sex with the King of the Gods.

Zeus was, admittedly, gorgeous. Blonde hair and unbelievably blue eyes, and a type of suavity that somehow didn’t seem cliché; however, after more years that Athene wanted to think about, it was getting dull.

Today, he was dressed in garb he’d acquired for one of his exploits among the mortals; a dark suit, edges cut perfectly, showing a gorgeous body beneath. Zeus was masculine and muscled, and Athene could certainly see why so many were interested. “Good day,” he greeted, in a voice like velvet.

Athene’s mouth twitched in a smile; he was dressed in a more traditional toga, having no interest in infecting the mortal world, at present. “What can I do for you?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

 Zeus strolled closer to him, his intention apparent. Athene sighed. Not again. “Hera will not be pleased, if she sees you like this,” Athene warned; honestly, he was keen on avoiding Hera’s – quite legendary – temper. Hera was a beautiful goddess, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with beautifully red lips and lethal sexuality.

Naturally, she was also married to a serial womaniser, who really had no perspective; Hera was always livid, upon finding that Zeus had cheated _again_ , and the mortal world found an abrupt increase in the number of natural disasters when Hera was upset

Yet, it wasn’t proving a deterrent. Zeus sidled closer, invading Athene’s personal space; the god of wisdom rolled his eyes, took a half-step back. “I’m thinking of spending a while with the mortals,” Athene told him, keeping his distance. “Learn a little more of their ways, in this era.”

Zeus smirked. “Hmm, little has changed,” he purred.

Athene shook his head, looking over the edge of Mount Olympus, eyes skating the expanding, elaborate world beneath them. “The mortals are growing more intelligent,” he murmured, expression a little troubled. “They have technologies we never believed them capable of; I want to see more.” He glanced to Zeus, seeking a form of permission.

Zeus merely shrugged. “If you wish,” he said gently. “Where would you go?”

“I haven’t been to London in two centuries,” Athene suggested, as Zeus’s fingers ran over his hand. “I think I’d like to establish myself there. Live a human cycle, a few decades or so. Live amongst them.”

Zeus’s body pressed against his suddenly, Athene’s breath catching in his throat. “Come find me, if you like,” Athene dared the god, eyes glinting. “See if you can find me, when I’m just another mortal.”

-

“What do you see?” Q asked, in his gentle voice, turning to look at the agent next to him.

That beautiful voice, familiar contours; when their gazes met, Q found the brightly blue eyes, sharp and invasive and playful in equal measure.

Athene – _Q_ , these days – sighed. He was being stalked by the King of the Gods.

He supposed it could have been worse.


	198. Chapter 198

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’ve got a prompt for you. It’s a songfic, if you don’t mind. It’s very close to my heart, and when I’m listening to this song, I always think about James and Q. I think this song is perfect for a description of their relationships, but a little bit full of angst. So, it supposed to be the sad fic after all. The song is “Afraid (the way we love) by Sarah Fimm. Thank you in advance. Always yours, doubleohheart.

Both of them were dead.

Implausible though it seemed, that fact wound up as being the basic premise of their entire existence together.

Bond had seen too much, been too much, lost to much. An irretrievable part of him had been murdered along with the tens, dozens of people he’d dispatched across the years, the lives he’d watched extinguished in the breath of a heartbeat, so many people, so much _pain_ , killing him off by increments until he was nothing more than a husk, until he finally gave up the battle to keep living.

Q had spent so much time alone that he’d killed the sense of humanity that came with being alive. He was the epitome of amorality; he did what was required, with no guilt. As time wore on, he lost the hesitation. A few months, a few years as Quartermaster – and he lost a decent sense of proportion. When one ordered murders, bombings, negotiations, on a daily basis, retaining a sense of normality was near impossible.

They found one another as two empty shells, soulless, lifeless.

Incrementally, it became apparent that there was enough left alive in them both to give them the strength to try. It stood a chance of failing, naturally, but neither had been in functional relationships since before they could remember; another dysfunctional tryst to add to their pregnant list would hardly matter.

Falling in love came as something of a surprise for both parties, being dead.

Bond murmured Q’s name, coaxed him away from the anaesthetised world he was so accustomed to. He let the boy seek out freedoms, revelled in reincarnation while forcing himself back in the process.

Q watched, assisted as he could. Bond had been gone far longer, in a more complex way; Q took reminding, forcible removal. Bond merited subtlety, gentle songs and lilting tunes.

The curious thing was that Q – despite looking unassuming, despite being utterly calm, had an aura of protectiveness about him. He could lock down buildings, blow up things. He could pull triggers, in an almost-sense, conducting killings by proxy but still essentially holding the gun.

When Q wrapped his arms around Bond, he felt safe. There were very few people who could do that. Bond began to cherish Q, treasure him as something unique and perfect and wholly beautiful.

Q was freed from thought. Bond brought him away, knew what to say, how to coax the young man out of his cyclical, constant hamster wheel, never permitted to sink into the distractions as Bond took care of him quite entirely.

They brought one another to life, just a little, just drawing out the human being from somewhere inside themselves, knowing they could be safe.


	199. Chapter 199

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond propositioned that he and Q play strip poker, swearing that he’ll win. Then he’s naked in the cold. – boothroyds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a distressing feeling I've already posted this. Let me know if I did? Cheers guys. Jen.

Q was one of a select few who was entirely impervious to any of Bond’s seductive techniques. No matter what Bond attempted, he never seemed able to finally get Q to relent.

He began to resort to desperate measures. Namely, cheating.

“Poker,” he suggested to Q, eyes bright. Q glanced at him with mild interest, raising an eyebrow; they usually kept their out-of-work dalliances restricted to less dangerous pastimes. “With a twist, of course.”

“This is another attempt at flirting, isn’t it?” Q asked wearily, sighing elaborately at Bond’s expression. He had tried nearly everything, to give the man some credit.

“Strip poker,” Bond clarified; to his delight, Q’s eyes lit up with interest. “A chance for me to see that gorgeous body of yours, hmm?”

Q snorted with laughter. “That assumes you think I’ll lose,” he pointed out, eyebrow raised emphatically as Bond’s expression became casually cocky, the expression of one who truly believed himself incapable of losing. “Well,” Q continued, restraining a smirk. “This should be interesting. I’ll see you tonight, my flat, eight. Bring more of the nice tequila you found last time.”

-

“… three of a kind,” Q smirked, looking at Bond. “If I’m not very much mistaken…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Bond grumbled; he cursed every god on every fucking planet, as his hands moved to his boxers. His only consolation was that while Q was still dressed in everything barring his cardigan and shoes, he did seem very interested in watching Bond remove his underwear.

Q himself was comfortably drunk; the tequila had left him fuzzy and warm, despite the flat being relatively cold, protecting the various computers around his flat from overheating. Bond looked a little chilly, goosebumps visible on his clear skin, muscled forearms prickling…

No. He was not admiring Bond’s muscled forearms. Just _no_.

He _certainly_ wasn’t admiring Bond’s groin, as the man stepped out of the rather lovely dark boxers he had been wearing. “I win,” Q said, his voice only slurring a very little. Bond raised an eyebrow.

“Seeing me naked constitutes ‘winning’, I believe I’ve just had a success of my own,” he purred; Bond, incredibly, seemed perfectly at home with his own nakedness. He was ashamed at having lost ignominiously at poker, not at standing, walking around to Q, completely stark naked.

Q blinked at him. “Never doubt my ability to bluff,” he said with a slight smile, pointedly not looking anywhere near Bond’s midriff or lower. “I _win_.”

“Yes, you do,” Bond purred; he leaned down, gorgeously shaped torso coming in closer, his skin warm and toned and smooth, and his lips tasted of butter and pepper and chilli warmth and tequila.

Q promptly threw all reason out the window as Bond pressed closer.

 _I win_ , thought Bond smugly, as his young Quartermaster fell to pieces in his hands.


	200. Chapter 200

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’d love to read a fic in which Q was captured by Silva and at first thinks he has the situation under control but gets totally scared when Silve shows him how his face really looks like (taking his teeth out). Silva/Q is my secreret kink. ;)) - anon

Q didn’t like handcuffs, as a rule. The metal cut against skin, the cold he found simply unpleasant, and they clinked annoyingly every time one moved. They were not particularly deft, and relatively easy to slip if you knew how. Q knew how, of course, but honestly wanted to find out how this would go.

Silva was an unpleasant bastard, Q mused, as the man slithered to his side, confident hands over his body. Intelligent, certainly – Silva had outdone Q once already – but not the greatest threat Q had ever encountered.

He also had a habit of calling Q ‘clever boy’, which Q found the single most patronising and annoying thing he had ever encountered. And that included every single moment he’d spent around James Bond.

“Did our James tell you about my party trick, clever boy?” Silva asked, in a soft Spanish burr, watching the boy in question glare, and raise an eyebrow at him.

Q’s voice was a confident, flat thing: “If you are referencing your ability to make any situation take on a sexual undertone, then no, but I read it in the mission notes,” he replied, making Q laugh.

“Oh, you are all acerbic and bitter, aren’t you?” Silva said appreciatively, patting Q on the head tenderly like one would a cat. “So young, and so cynical.”

“I wonder why,” Q retorted drily, lip twitching in a slight snarl at the contact.

Silva pulled back. Q watched him carefully, breathing calmly; Silva was a threat, certainly, but MI6 would be coming imminently. Q had at least two trackers still live, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, and he was too valuable an asset to be easily forgotten.

Q barely blinked, as Silva’s hands roamed over his face, his mouth, delicate typist’s fingers. “You know everything,” the man murmured, eyes darting back to Q’s face. “Words, mission statements, reports. You’ve never _seen_ it though, hmm?”

“I have the documented photographs, medical reports,” Q said calmly, seeing where the conversation was leading.

Silva just raised an eyebrow. “My dear boy, it’s quite a different thing to truly _see_ ,” he hummed, fastening fingers, tugging.

Q’s back pressed sharply against the back of the chair, plastering him backwards as he watched with pure, un-tempered horror. “Fuck, holy _fuck_ ,” he swore, fingers tightening into fists, feeling bile rise in his throat.

He was not made for this. He was made for computers and sterility and quiet and calm and chrome and plastic. This was too tangible. It was presented as a fact, a binary fact, something that could not be changed or altered but was unrelentingly real, immediate, visceral.

This was not his world. He controlled the parameters, never entered the scenario.

Silva leaned in closer, and Q tried not to vomit.


	201. Chapter 201

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q meets a modern day, MI6 based version of Pride and Prejudice! I love you so much. I check your blog daily and I just absolutely adore you. – anon

It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a customised SIG P239 will almost invariably lose it within forty-eight hours.

Q had been at an MI6 function when he discovered Bond’s true opinion of him; a decently scathing little attack, calling him a ‘pathetic, overreaching teenager with limited ability and condescending arrogance’.

Bond had been treated to flights in coach, hotels in the dingiest of locations, and finance cuts. Q also may or may not have affected some of his overall salary, but that couldn’t be proved in either direction.

He had ranted about the man ceaselessly for hours, including at Silva, another agent; he had valiantly tried to hold his tongue, before eventually telling him stories of Bond’s cruelties, his indiscretions. Of how James Bond had taken away the woman he loved through a simple seduction, knowing that Silva loved her, wanted her.

Unsurprising. The bastard fucked anything that moved, after all, regardless of anybody’s feelings on the subject.

When Bond slid into his office and shut the door, Q was in no gaming mood. He’d lost most of his equipment to the man, his budget was entirely trashed, and he had fuel from a number of different sources that indicated Bond was an immoral, selfish bastard who was simply not worth the time worrying or wasting effort on.

“Q, I would like to tell you something,” Bond began, settling in the chair opposite Q. “I’ve tried damn hard to deny it, but I would like to make it clear how much I respect your work, and you. Respect, and care for.”

There was no denying the subtext. James Bond had just essentially laid his heart on the floor, for no apparent reason. Probably in some misguided hope of sex, thinking Q was that easily coerced.

Q let him have it, with both barrels. His behaviour towards Silva, towards other human beings, towards his goddamn equipment – it was unacceptable, and frankly, trying to flirt with his superior was a damned stupid idea that was liable to get him thrown the hell out of MI6 in the imminent future.

Bond had turned dangerously, violently quiet. He stalked out without a further word.

 -

A day later, Q found a letter on his desk. A genuine, honest-to-god letter. In the twenty-first century.

Bond had explained everything, in detail. The story of the woman he had loved, and Silva’s arrogance in not giving information, and her death. Watching her drown, in a way that could have been avoided. The ways he’d been hurt, the type of role a double-oh agent truly was, the effect it had; he wrapped up the letter in lines of apology, and signed off.

Q was utterly shocked.

 When Bond dropped some almost-intact weaponry into his in-tray a week later, Q thanked him quietly. He even managed a smile.

It was far from a confident, or simple thing. Both were exceptionally wary, relatively certain the other was watching them for missteps.

Months later, Bond returned to his office. They’d found some general form of repartee, a relationship that they could both cope with. Bond returned some forms of equipment and ignored others, while Q was generally kinder, and had cut out Silva from his favours entirely after some research had validated Bond’s story.

He walked in, shut the door behind him. Q restrained a smile.

“Would you like to go for dinner some time?” Bond asked directly, watching Q almost nervously.

Q looked up, grinned. “Yes, actually. I think I would.”


	202. Chapter 202

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond discovers that Q wears his clothes at home while he’s away on a mission. He finds it both completely endearing and unspeakably hot. – anon

Q jumped violently when the door opened. “ _You’re_ supposed to be in Medical,” Q threw accusingly at Bond; the man strode in, abruptly stopping, staring at Q like he’d never seen the man before. Q raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” he managed after a moment, feeling a touch alarmed at Bond’s expression.

“That’s my shirt.”

A series of inventive curses flashed through Q’s mind. “Yes,” he conceded, trying for flippancy. “Not a problem, is it?”

Bond grinned, coming around the edge of the sofa to see Q properly; he had Bond’s too-large shirt wrapped haphazardly around him with buttons undone, Bond’s favourite socks, even a bowtie loosely hanging around his neck. The collar was bunched up around his neck, concentrating around Q’s nose and mouth, easily burrowed into. They were definitely not clean-on either.

Q had been wearing them because they smelt of him. The thought was so absurdly, ridiculously endearing that Bond wasted no time scooping Q into his arms – his lover giving a faint yelp of shock – and kissing him deeply, passionately.

The shirt fell open as Bond fell back, Q taking control; when making out on sofas, Bond always worried about squashing the younger man. Q seized the opportunity for control, as Bond’s hands snaked beneath the unbuttoned shirt, creeping along Q’s flat abdomen. “Gorgeous,” Bond purred, as he kissed Q again, Q beginning to rub himself slightly against Bond’s groin with delicious friction.

“I’m going to ruin your clothes,” Q rasped, as Bond pulled his hips in, taking a moment to grind against Q through their clothing.

Bond chuckled in a low, tempting tone. “I must confess, it isn’t an upsetting thought,” he rumbled, licking a long stripe up Q’s throat, the younger man moaning in satisfaction. “May as well put the shirts to good use, hmm?”

Q was panting, as the friction became too tantalising, not enough to satisfy, enough to be noticeable and wanted. Bond’s hands tracked lower, sliding over Q’s arse, noting the lack of underwear. “Well, I thought wearing yours was a little too weird,” Q said casually, as though going commando in Bond’s trousers was perfectly normal.

There were so many more important things in the world to worry about. Bond just grinned. “I’m still not going to argue,” he said teasingly, and slid his hand around over Q’s hip, arm snaking between them to close around Q’s cock.

“Fuck _yes_ ,” Q mumbled, still kissing Bond desperately, Bond’s bowtie falling between the sofa cushions, forgotten.


	203. Chapter 203

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I love reading your stories, and I have a prompt if you will ;o) Q Holmes Diary (aka Bridget Jones); Q and his little daily problems, like putting on a bit of weight and family bothering him about finding a boyfriend, finally! If it´s too silly, just ignore it ;o) – aim-of-johns-affections

**10/01/13**

I’m debating whether fratricide is excusable if it were for the greater good. Of a nation, a series of individuals, society as a whole. This is conjecture of course, but I suppose Bond would even be able to act as my trigger, were I to ask him nicely and exchange some form of sexual favour.

Apparently, I need to watch my eating habits more carefully, acquire a partner, and become less obsessive with my work. More succinctly put: Mycroft’s hypocrisy knows no bounds. I believe that now Sherlock has found somebody who is prepared to put up with him for more than twenty minutes at a time and feed him, Mycroft has decided that I should follow in his footsteps.

I hate my siblings. John’s nice though, we had dinner. Sherlock’s fond of him too, even let him get away with telling Sherlock off for some of his less socially adept conversational statements.

In other news, I’m not dating James Bond. Contrary to popular opinion/belief, we are meeting as friends, and staying as friends. He has no interest in me, and I like him as a friend. Just a friend.

We went out for drinks, actually. I don’t know if he was flirting, it’s difficult to tell given that Bond speaks to _everyone_ that way. He bought for the whole evening despite me insisting he shouldn’t, and took me home afterwards. Didn’t try anything, but he did have a hand on my waist. Is that flirting? The internet indicates that physical contact is a good sign, but Bond is somewhat anomalous.

I tried to ask Sherlock, and he told me to ‘get on and copulate, since you so clearly want to’. Spectacularly unhelpful, and untrue. I’m not after James Bond. End of.

-

**23/01/13**

I’ve lost half a pound, again, despite eating enough cake to make even Mycroft sick (Lisa in accounting’s birthday, she brought a cake for the branch. I confiscated most of it). My metabolism is absurd.

Bond returned from a mission today. We’re not dating. He returned his equipment for perhaps the second time since I joined MI6. He winked at me as he left. I have no idea what that was supposed to mean.

-

**08/01/13**

Gained! Mycroft will, perhaps, bog off now.

Bond asked if I was going anywhere on Valentine’s Day. I told him no, and he nodded, and offered to take me to dinner.

I have a weird feeling I’m dating Bond, but the man didn’t warn me. More later.

-

**15/02/13**

Just got home. It’s one in the afternoon. Spent the night at Bond’s flat.

It transpires that I’m _definitely_ dating James Bond.


	204. Chapter 204

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about a 00Q fic where Q is actually a FTM transgender and the only one who knows at MI6 is M because of work related things. So something where Q eventually has to tell Bond. Whether it’s because of sex or something else is totally up to you, same goes for Bond’s reaction. Thanks so much! :3 - anon
> 
> AND
> 
> I was thinking about something for a prompt : Maybe one where Q is a Transgender (Female to Men) nobody knows this, 007 & Q are already in a relationship together, one day 007 discovers the secret about Q and they have a discussion. Maybe a little shocke with James who don’t know what to think and maybe finish with happy Ending. Thank You In Advance :) – tigrasevaddict

Bond honestly hadn’t seen it coming.

He and Q had been dating on a tentative, intermittent basis for maybe a month. In a somewhat revolutionary moment for Bond, they hadn’t had sex yet; Bond didn’t want to rush it, to ruin their fragile relationship through being overhasty.

They had kissed, even ended up making out on Bond’s sofa, Q panting as their bodies shifting against one another; they had pulled away almost in tandem, Q almost blushed, Bond trying to will blood elsewhere around his body.

Tonight, Q had handed Bond a glass of wine, and asked him to listen. Bond – who was honestly rather nervous, looking at Q’s expression – did as asked, holding the wine glass to his chest as Q started explaining, knotting his hands together nervously as he did so.

It made sense, in a way. Q’s delicacy was in his skeletal structure, the aspect hormone therapy could not alter. The rest of him was male, to such a degree that Bond hadn’t even considered that he had been anything but.

The inevitable question; Bond glanced down at Q’s groin, with absolutely no idea how to ask. Mercifully, Q interceded: “I haven’t had surgery. The hormones have had… some effect, but no, I don’t have male genitalia,” Q explained, as deftly as one could on such a subject.

Really, Bond had no clue how to respond to the information. It wasn’t a _problem_ , per se; genitalia made very little difference to Bond’s opinion of anybody. It was just that he’d not even slightly expected it, and had never met a transsexual this far through transitioning. “Are you planning on…?”

“Surgery?” Q completed lightly. He sighed a little. “I don’t know. Possibly. I don’t really mind much, myself. I wondered if I should, for a long while, but then MI6 took over.”

Bond settled back, blinked a little more. He had an absurd range of questions threatening to topple out of him, starting from when Q had decided he wasn’t female, to why he hadn’t told Bond before.

 He supposed the latter question was obvious, given the worry etched in every aspect of Q’s body language. Somehow, Bond got the distinct impression that telling people in the past had not ended overly well.

“Look, it really isn’t aproblem. I still like you, I’d still like to date you,” Bond said, as a blanket statement. “I just… I don’t want it to, but it will take some adjustment.”

Q nodded slowly, carefully. “It doesn’t change who I am,” he pointed out quietly. “You and I, I’m still me.”

“I know,” Bond interjected hurriedly. “Believe me, I do. It’s just… it’s like when any big piece of information comes out. It shifts your perceptions, not in a bad way, just… do you understand?”

Bond felt relief course through him as Q smiled slightly, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said simply. “You took that surprisingly well?”

“What else was I going to do?” Bond teased, and kissed him before Q could think of a suitably pessimistic response.


	205. Chapter 205

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great writing I know you have written about other agents wanting Q but how about a new double Oh who is gay and wants James causing all kinds of jealousy in Q especially if they go on a mission together have to put on a show for a mark James enjoying the flirting and teasing a little too much for Q to handle maybe some angst and fluff but not too much fluff its boring at times – anon

Q’s fingers clenched around his mug, jaw set, lips in a thin line.

The mission was relatively complex, yes. Two double-oh agents had been deployed – the new 005, and 007 – and for their cover, it was important they were romantically involved. Hell, the two had been selected because they happened to be gay, and omnisexual respectively.

The latter was Q’s term, not Bond’s, applied with abrasive sarcasm and mild contempt for Bond’s ability to flirt with anything and anyone, any time, anywhere.

Including, apparently, 005.

Q shouldn’t have minded, he shouldn’t. It was a job. It was _only_ a job. Bond was not really interested in 005, and Q suspected that 005 was only interested in Bond because of the novelty of another 00 agent in a homosexual relationship.

Yet Bond had been a little _too_ enthusiastic about the idea of faking a relationship with somebody else. He was a little _too_ flattered, too delighted, too flirtatious and outright sexual at points with somebody who was _not_ his boyfriend.

Q handed over mission handling to R when it began to feel a little too much. Bond had previous for overly sexual behaviour, lack of monogamy, generally shagging anything with a pulse – not to mention that Q had discovered a latent possessive streak that resented any and all contact Bond had with other people in a sexualised context.

Bond called him that evening. “Are you alright?” he asked straight out; apparently, he’d noticed Q’s unhappiness.

Q explained in fragile words, tried to communicate genuine upset without looking vaguely psychotic, or overwhelmingly possessive.

“I think I know how to fix that,” Bond murmured down the phone, trying to encourage his horribly upset partner, who had stumbled across a vulnerability entirely by accident and was struggling to deal with it.

-

“Yes, that’s my ex,” a tired, irritable-sounding Bond said; Q-branch listened with interest, while a similar story began to unfold over on 005’s speaker. The pair – who had been supposedly partners for a while – had staged their own break-up.

Bond almost immediately fell into the company of some rather dangerous people, who quite liked that Bond was both independent, and slightly bitter post break-up. 005, meanwhile, played the sympathy hand; factions of the organisation closed around them, shockingly effective.

M commented to Q that it was a truly magnificent idea on their parts, despite not being part of their original brief.

Q just watched, listened. In a quiet moment when nobody was watching, he leaned into the microphone that connected Q-branch to Bond’s earpiece, and thanked him.


	206. Chapter 206

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love your writing and have been slowly reading them all. so i don’t really know if something like this has been prompted but i would like to see q finding out that bond has cheated on him and q not taking it. maybe sort of q paying bond back in same token or just being BAMF. like yeah okay you cheated on me and yeah i love you but that doesn’t mean i have to put up with it. – anon

Q watched, eyebrow raised slightly, otherwise having no reaction whatsoever.

There was no way in hell this could be categorised as ‘necessary’, or ‘in the line of duty’. This was just Bond, getting bored, and deciding that he wanted a good fuck while his adrenaline was high.

His Earl Grey tasted a little off. Probably too weak.

Q texted Bond. _Your subtlety is underwhelming. Do not even think about coming to see me when you return. I am also uninterested in apologies, should you consider it. A pity. – Q_

He placed his phone on the table, and didn’t actually move in quite a long while.

-

Q went out.

He hadn’t been out drinking for a while, hadn’t gone to a club or found some random man to go home with, to wake up in the morning regretting absolutely everything and with a headache that threatened to split his skull open and a vague throbbing in his backside.

When his eyes cracked open, Q groaned elaborately. He honestly felt like he’d been hit by a truck. But then, that had been the idea.

Yawning, he looked around; not his flat. But, judging by the bin, they had both been compus mentis enough to use a condom. Excellent.

The man next to him was remarkably nondescript. Neither knew the other’s name, and that was how it would stay. Q was pathetically grateful he’d managed to wake up earlier; he now stood a decent chance of getting the hell out before unidentified-man woke up.

Q slid out the door with a vague hum. Dehydrated, in mild pain, a little disorientated, not a clue where he was.

It was very nearly worth it.

-

“You slept with somebody else.”

 “Oh, just fuck off, would you?” Q snapped; Bond had no right sounding judgmental, not given his behaviour. Q was perfectly within his goddamn right to do whatever the hell he wanted, and he _had_ wanted. He had wanted to forget and spend a night in somebody else’s company, using and discarding people. Bond, of all people, understood that.

Bond looked genuinely hurt. “Q, I’m sorry…”

“Well. Here’s a novel concept for you: that isn’t good enough,” Q snapped at him. “Now get out of my office, and if you try to make any further comment on my personal life, I’ll have you banned from the branch. Understood?”

Bond didn’t move.

“ _Now_.”

Q didn’t look up as Bond walked away.


	207. Chapter 207

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I totally love your writing! Can you write an angsty one, where James doesn’t trust himself enough to protect Q after Vesper? Maybe with fluff at the end, Q making sure he can take care of himself and James, if necessary. – anon

Q had grown used to the fretting. The overly pedantic way Bond made his way through infinite bits of security systems, making sure there was nothing that could breach their flat. How he enquired with non-existent nonchalance about the state of HQ, and Q-branch security. Anywhere that Q went, he double- and triple-checked every single fragment of security.

It was endearing, in a way. Bond clearly couldn’t handle even the vague concept of anything happening to Q, so he made absolutely damn sure that even when he wasn’t there, Q would be safe.

After a while, it became almost painful to see. Bond never stopped. The paranoia grew out of proportion, became all-consuming. “I can’t see you hurt,” he said simply, as though that should be all the explanation Q would ever need.

“James…”

“Everyone I care about dies,” Bond said simply, not caring about the bluntness, not bothering with hyperbole. It was true; everybody he had ever felt genuine affection for died, some way or another.

Q would not be on that list.

It took a long while to work out how he would get around it, how he could possibly prove to his panicked lover that he would be safe.

Bond was lured down into the shooting range on blatantly false pretences. He went because Q had asked, ultimately, and – idiot that he was – he followed without too many questions.

Q was waiting, with a series of guns. “Okay. I know this won’t help much, but watch?”

Bond acceded, standing back a moment, distinctly confused; Q smiled faintly, and started the range on a test sequence of moving targets that Bond himself knew to be difficult. Q shot perfectly, in a way that was calm and unhurried and precise, completing the sequence and turning back to Bond. He just raised an eyebrow, still not following.

“I can defend myself, at least to a degree,” Q explained gently, indicating the range. “I’ll start learning hand to hand combat too, you could teach me if you want? I just don’t want you believing that you are the only thing standing in the way between me and an as-yet undetermined death.”

It was impossible not to smile; Q was being impossibly, ridiculously endearing. Not to mention that knowing he was quite such a lethal shot was both a relief, and apparently a turn-on.

Bond linked his arms around Q’s body, tugging the slim man closer. “Thank you,” he said with absolute honesty.

“James, I’ll be okay,” Q murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the other’s lips. “Please, try not to worry so much.”

Bond just nodded, and kissed the man properly. Nothing would stop him worrying, not with something – someone – as outright precious, as valuable, as Q. Bond had seen too many people to let Q join them.

“Be safe,” he told Q, breath mingling hotly together.

Q nodded, mute, and they let time blot out for a few long moments.


	208. Chapter 208

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys I love your blog it is amazing!!! I love all your stories and basically everything you blog xD could you possibly do a 00Q/bondlock fanfic where Q is hurt and in hospital ( can be Moriarty related if u want) and Bond meets the fourth Holmes, Q’s twin sister while she visits her brother? And can you make James and the sister meet beforehand on a mission ( like she was a target who got away?) or maybe one of James’s ex lovers ;) I love you both so much and happy writing! – xena-warrior-princess

Bond walked into the hospital with flowers, and a lethal expression. Nobody hurt Q. That much was an established rule, as far as Bond was concerned, and he was merely waiting for the perpetrator to be tracked down before exactly vicious, precise retribution.

To his immense relief, it hadn’t been too bad. Q was hurt, yes, but would only be in-patient for a few more days while the worst of the burns healed. He was very jumpy, but that was expected.

Sherlock was hanging around in the waiting room; he raised an eyebrow at Bond’s entry. “Welcome,” he said, utterly dry. “He’s awake. Do be nice to him, won’t you?”

Bond knew Sherlock well enough to find that statement hilariously ironic. He rolled his eyes slightly, and walked straight on through familiar corridors, turning into a private room to find:

“ _Mariette_?” Bond asked incredulously, glancing around the room quickly before focusing back on her. Q was lying in the bed itself, Mariette leaning over him in a sweetly intimate position.

Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Bond. “My god,” he murmured. “James Bond. Naughty boy.”

The last she directed at Q, who blushed slightly. “I’m not the only one with a taste for double-oh agents,” he quipped, making Mariette laugh. “Yes, sorry James. This is Mariette, as I’ve gathered you already know. She’s my twin sister.”

Bond blinked. Twin. Of course. Of bloody _course_.

Q raised an eyebrow, slightly mocking. “You’re really not dealing with this too well, are you?” Mariette asked, making Q slap her playfully.

“Be nice, he’s in shock,” Q said, very much teasing.

Bond took another breath. “There are _four_ of you?” he asked, trying to envisage life with not merely three but _four_ of the Holmeses. Q was alright to handle, on his own. Sherlock and Mycroft were living nightmares.

An overdramatic groan; Mariette snorted, Q restrained a smirk of his own. “It had to be you,” Bond griped, moving to the other side of the bed, and ignoring Mariette as best he could. “Sicily, was it?”

“Mmn,” Mariette hummed, with a sexual undertone that made Q limply lash out to slap her. “Sorry, baby boy.”

Q glared petulantly. “I will kill you, Mar. You’ve had your fun. It’s creepy enough as it is, that you’ve slept with my boyfriend. Shh now. James, stop glaring, you’ll start singeing things.”

Bond slid an arm around Q’s shoulders, kissing his forehead gently. Mariette just smiled lopsidedly from her chair, and watched.


	209. Chapter 209

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Your stories complete me, honestly they do. I was wondering if you could fill a prompt for me? I was listening to ‘I’m Yours’ by the Script and it’s basically my 00Q ship song. If you could do anything with that, I would love it to bits. Thank you thank you thank you for existing! – anon

Q’s fingers were gentle, soft, as they tracked over Bond’s face. The various lines, fine indents, deeper trenches of so much life. Curiously, it didn’t feel in any sense bad, didn’t inspire the usual flood of inadequacy Bond was accustomed to when somebody noticed the patterning of age, spider webs in the corners of his eyes.

“You’re immensely beautiful, James,” Q murmured, his light green eyes a perfect contrast to the cold, stabbing blue. “I’m not sure you understand that. It’s not just sexuality, it’s something more.”

Q makes him believe that he is ‘more’ in every respect. Bond can give him fuck all, really. He will be dead within a handful of years, he is dying already, just less obviously than most.

 _I could break you apart_ , his calloused fingers said, so much harder than Q’s elegant digits. _I could hurt you so badly_.

Q kisses him like breath, lets him know he will never leave, and Bond clings onto him, wanting to shake him out of staying because it’s so damn stupid, and yet holding on because losing him would be the end.

All parts of him are kept safe, with Q. Everything of him is loved and looked after. The fault lines are acknowledged and accepted, and it is entirely and beautifully _enough_ , for a moment at least.

When Alec dies, Q is the only one to tell him to stop being stoic, you don’t need to be, not now. Bond isn’t made to feel weak, or pathetic, for missing somebody he’d known for years, who he’d practically grown up with. “James, you don’t need to be strong, not for me,” Q assured him, kissing his forehead gently. “It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human, and that’s no bad thing.”

Bond cried in Q’s arms, allowing himself to be looked after, wishing he could somehow communicate just how much he owed Q. He had been found, cared for, was being looked after and loved; he had never been loved like Q loved him, and couldn’t understand what he did to deserve it.

They moved and breathed together, bodies working in counterpoint. Bond’s form curled around Q’s slender figure, with as much protection as he could manage. _For what it’s worth: everything I have, everything I am, is yours._


	210. Chapter 210

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha/Omega trope: Omega’s have had equal rights for quite a while but no law can inhibit an Alpha’s instinct to protect a lone Omega as forced matings are punishable by no less than 10 years in prison. Bond ends up nurturing this instinct when a skittish lone omega moves in down the hall and has been slowly wooing him over the course of a year. Another Alpha starts sniffing where he doesn’t belong and Bond shows him his place. – anon

Q, as an Omega, screamed vulnerability. True, that was probably biological as much as anything else, but it didn’t stop Bond from wanting to keep him safe from all the troubles of the world, as much as he humanly could.

There was no indication that Q wanted to mate with him. There was no indication that Q wanted to mate with anyone at all, actually. It was unusual, for an Omega of Q’s age to have never been bonded, but it was ultimately their choice. Bond guessed that Q had a healthy supply of suppressants for heats, or just felt himself strong enough to endure the intermittent wash of hormones and pheromones and desperation.

Bond had no interest in spooking the boy, nor upsetting him. He was more than content to merely stay with Q, look after him, and keep every other Alpha a very long way away from him. Perhaps it was childish, but Bond had reached the stage of genuinely living by the idea that if he couldn’t have Q, nobody could.

They were good friends, of course. By virtue of Bond very unsubtly guarding him from every other Alpha in a ten-mile radius, they’d become rather close. Bond’s flirtations were exceptionally low-key, in an appreciation of Q’s serious inability to handle anything more explicit.

When 009 started hanging around Q-branch, Bond was onto him like a shot.

“And you’re here for?” he asked drily, tone still lighter for a moment as he assessed how much of a threat the man was.

009 smiled thinly, glancing past Bond towards the end of the corridor. “An unbonded Omega,” the fellow Alpha said, voice velvet and lulling. “I must confess to being interested.”

Bond had the man pinned against the wall by the throat faster than either man knew was possible. “Q is defended,” Bond said simply; the phrase was a formal one, the term used for an Alpha staking a claim over an unbonded Omega. Bond had never needed to formally use it before; once spoken, the Alpha could only keep protection over the Omega for six months. After that, the Omega would be re-exposed to Alphas again, in the hope of finding another mate.

009 knew that. He merely had to wait out the six months, and see if Q had elected to choose Bond yet. If not, he would be fair game.

“I’ll be seeing you again, 007,” the man murmured with an obsequious smile, Bond’s expression hard and merciless as he slid down the corridor.

-

Five months, twenty-four days later, and Q was ambling around Q-branch with a silly, delighted expression.

Bond just stood to the sidelines, his new Omega seeming truly happy, contended, no shyness or worry or fear.

009 nodded to him, a concession. _Well played, 007_.

Bond just smirked, linked an arm around Q’s waist, and kissed him.


	211. Chapter 211

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I ask for a prompt where everyone refers to Q as Bond’s “young man” and this piss off both of them? Thanks! – anon

It started with Meggy, up in Medical. A motherly type of woman, who consistently smelt of stale perfume and talcum powder, and cooed as she fussed around the double-oh agents whenever they appeared in her custody. She dispatched Bond with the phrase: “Now off you go, go find that nice young man of yours.”

Bond froze slightly, head tilting to one side curiously. “My what?”

“That young man of yours, the Quartermaster.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Bond said quietly. He left the room, straight-backed, trying to find Q.

-

M was next. “Q’s a lovely young man, isn’t he?” he smirked at Bond; Bond, who was still hooked up to Q-branch after the end of his previous mission, heard a very irate Q suddenly comment:

“I’m not… that’s _ridiculously_ condescending,” Q squeaked, sounding very cross. “’Young man’. I’m not some _adolescent_ …”

“I think we would take exception to that,” Bond commented to M, who merely shrugged. M’s eyes flicked to Bond’s ear, back to his face, eyebrow slightly quirked. “Anyway,” Bond said heavily, hoping to deflect off onto his debrief. “The female casualty…”

-

Once Q-branch found out that it annoyed both Q, and 007, there was no stopping it. It went viral in a matter of seconds.

Q started filtering correspondence, finding all comments concerning himself labelled not under ‘Q’ or ‘Quartermaster’, but ‘Bond’s young man’. Q was apoplectic, and Bond was debating who he was going to kill first. Q had given him a gun, and carte blanche.

By that point, nobody even cared enough to stop. Professionalism had gone on temporary hold, every deciding it was far more _fun_ to bait an angry man with a license to kill, and a worryingly calm man with the ability to take out every piece of technology in a hundred-mile radius.

“Alright,” Q abruptly snapped, standing in front of his team. “I know what you’ve been doing. It stops, _now_. I may not be the dinosaur everyone expected to run this branch, but I will not stand for insubordination. The next patronising missive I come across will result in disciplinary procedures. Do I make myself amply clear?”

It achieved nothing. The perpetrators started hacking into other people’s emails. It was virulent and unstoppable.

Q collapsed into Bond’s arms, the older man itching to serial kill. “Some of them are good programmers,” Q muttered reluctantly, and sighed. “’Young man’. For god’s sake, I’m _thirty-two_.”


	212. Chapter 212

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a 00Q where Q goes to a heavy metal concert and gets stuck in the pit and Bond has to go and rescue him? – anon

Bond had literally no idea what the band was, but they were unbelievably loud, and Bond had long-since lost any ability to actually hear anything beyond the screaming stuff that apparently, Q found some merit in.

They had started off in decent places, near the front of the stage. To say it wasn’t Bond’s scene would be grimly understating matters; he wasn’t overwhelmingly surprised when the crowd kicked off, immediately trying to haul himself and Q the hell out of the way, given that Q would probably wind up flattened in a matter of seconds.

Q literally wasn’t strong enough to fight off the tides of people. Bond swore, the noise drowned out, as Q slipped from his fingers to be swallowed by the violent, angry-looking motions of a crowd all jumping and crashing and throwing themselves at each other in a frankly alarming way.

Bond needed Q out of there. He knew full damn well how dangerous pits could be, and Q – for all his strengths – was about as well-placed as a newborn kitten in terms of battling off the sea of adrenaline and other substance-addled fans bouncing around.

Of course, Bond couldn’t hear a damn thing. He was relying on sight – in a pitch-black concert stadium – to track down one, skinny, bespectacled young man. Even if Q made it out without injury, Bond was going to kill him for being so stupid.

A flash of hair, an arm; Bond moved forward with a confidence born of a lot of training, and the ability to injure people in subtle and understated ways. Even when high on adrenaline, people would respect to some level of pain, even if it was just a hesitation.

Q was panicking, a little unsurprisingly. His glasses were long gone, and he was being inexorably dragged by the current of music away from anywhere faintly safe. He didn’t see Bond; his mouth opened in a complete inaudible cry when Bond’s hands fastened around his waist, scouting for the nearest exit.

A mostly-blind Q was literally _carried_ out of the pit, Bond holding him about a foot in the air, hands fastened around his waist. Getting out was harder, but Bond was damn resilient.

Bond didn’t stop until they were literally outside the stadium, walking past guards without really caring, dropping Q on a dew-sodden grass verge. “That,” he snapped. “Was the most idiotic thing I’ve ever seen you do. Never again, Q. We get seats or something, I don’t know. Shit music anyway.”

Q looked too pathetic to argue. Being trapped was right up there with one of the more frightening experiences of Q’s life; he had absolutely no intention of repeating it.

Instead, he looked up at Bond, expression sad and pathetic. Bond rolled his eyes, wrapped his young lover in warm arms, a rather chastened Q letting Bond lull him into calm.


	213. Chapter 213

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I literally sit around waiting for you to write more. I have a prompt for you guys: instead of taking M down by killing her, Silva tries to destroy MI6. The scene where Silva drops a train on Bond, Silva confesses and tells bond that he plans on blowing up Q branch. Q-branch hears and starts to panic only to find out Q-branch has been locked down. How it ends is up to you – anon

Bond swore eloquently as Silva disappeared up the ladder, vanishing inexorably into the rest of the world. “Q, did you get that?”

“I would have to be very deaf not to,” Q replied drily; distantly, Bond could hear the sounds of an entire room of people outright panicking. “It appears he informed you just _after_ the nick of time. The branch has been locked down externally, and it appears we don’t have long.”

A moment of horrified silence. “What?” Bond repeated; he had met Q so recently, was actually relatively fond of the ridiculous boy. “You are presumably able to lift it?”

Q was quiet for a long moment. “I honestly don’t know,” he confessed, his words underpinned by the frenetic sounds of typing. “Even if I were… just, wait a moment.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Find Silva, and make sure he doesn’t do anything like this again. This is his retribution; he wants to take out MI6, like he did in the previous explosion. Killing the organisation that let him down,” Q murmured, his voice became scarily quiet. “Ah.”

“Q?”

Bond listened carefully, Q ignoring him altogether as he shouted to his branch. “Ladies and gentlemen, to the exits _now_ , full evac,” he yelled; Bond managed a smirk of triumph. “We have only minutes. Everybody out. Bond?”

“Yes?” Bond replied, eyes narrowing faintly. Q didn’t reply a moment. “Q…?”

Q’s breathing was faintly unsteady. “I’d appreciate you staying on the line, if you would,” he said quietly, waving off his various subordinates. “The only way to do this is to run a continuous line of code through the system. In practise, the lockdown will only remain lifted as long as I’m typing. By extension, I will not be able to get out. I’d like to have somebody to talk to before… I mean, somebody who won’t panic, like anybody from my branch would.”

Q would be the youngest, and shortest-serving, Quartermaster in history. He would save his branch, save MI6 from destruction; a martyr, for Queen and Country. He continued to type, trying not to find it upsetting, battling against the instinctive desire to run and hide and not _die_. He was too young to die like this.

“Is there no other way?” Bond asked quietly, stilling to a stop to listen to Q. He stood in the middle of the street, Q’s voice steady and calm and terribly quiet as he simply said ‘no’. “Okay. Is everyone out?”

A moment of silence. “Now they are,” Q said quietly, and the typing stopped; his breath was slightly fractured as he sighed. “Fuck. Okay, well. Only me left.”

“I’m here, Q,” Bond told him soothingly, imagining the young man, the beautiful man with the gorgeously green eyes, dark hair everywhere, the air of a barely-adolescent and such immense brilliance. He had deserved so much more than this. “You won’t feel anything, so don’t be scared of that, you’re too close to the epicentre.”

A very slight, almost inaudible hitch. “Fuck,” the young man mumbled. “I really didn’t expect to die this early. I thought I’d get a little more done, before something like this happened. I’ve… I’ve sent out all my prototypes to a secure secondary server, hopefully something I’ve done will actually live on…”

“Q, you don’t have to think about work right now,” Bond pointed out, smiling a little, in the hope of keeping Q from a complete breakdown. “I…”

Q interrupted with a sharp, unpleasant laugh. “What else do I think about?” he asked, with a faint shadow of desperation. “I have no family, no relationships. I’m on my own. I don’t have anything left to think about. Jesus, how fucking sad is that?”

“Welcome to MI6,” Bond commented, with a faint smile. Fuck, the poor kid. “You know I was planning on asking you out, some time, after this mission was over?”

Q’s laugh was slightly kinder. “Yes, you’re not subtle,” he teased, before his breath hitched again. “I would have liked it. Note for the future: don’t hang about, middle of a mission or not. Apparently, it’s possible to defy all life expectancy statistics in one easy step. Quartermasters usually live to retirement, there have only been a handful that haven’t. I’m in the minority.”

“Unique as ever,” Bond teased back.

In Q-branch, Q curled up into his office chair, where he’d meandered after the lockdown fell again. His tea was still warm; he took a final sip of it, fingers tight about the porcelain. “On balance, there are better things to be remembered for,” he said without smiling, pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing carefully.

“I know,” Bond murmured, feeling surprisingly devastated. He barely knew the boy, had just harboured a passing attraction that had been on hold until after the Skyfall incident all blew over. “You won’t be forgotten, Q, I can promise you that. I’m sorry, Q.”

Q glanced over his computer, watching the timer tick down. “Here we go,” he whispered, mug tucked to his chest, Bond in his ear, eyes squeezed tightly shut as his body instinctively tensed. “Goodbye, 007.”

“For god’s sake Q, call me James,” Bond replied instantly, almost tripping over words as he tried to communicate the last handful of words, in the few seconds his Quartermaster had.

“Okay. Bye, James,” Q amended, smiling ever so slightly, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Thank you for staying.”

There was a wrenching, horrible noise, and then nothing.

Bond listened to the pressing silence, his own eyes shut, giving himself a moment or two to grieve for a boy far too young to have died like that. He had been so clever, so beautiful. Worth more than this.

He had to destroy Silva. He owed Q that much.


	214. Chapter 214

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q AU: In a world where people who are soul-mates have some kind of special telepathy, they could meet each other in their dream world, Bond and Q are soul-mates but never have the chance to meet each other in real life… INSERT ANOTHER AWESOME CHIBURA!PLOT IN HERE. Thank you! – chibura

Q smiled in genuine delight, as a familiar figure clarified into being out of the corner of his eyes.

 _You’ve been gone a while_ , he said without speaking, letting himself be bundled into a tight, almost bruising hug. Q felt the communicated waves of pain, hurt, worry, fear hit into him without censor. _Hey – are you alright?_

The older man, the indistinct figure, simply nodded. He had been in Q’s life for so long, such a vital and perfect and wonderful part, and Q hated him seeing hurt in any way at all. _I’m fine_ , he said, letting the negative emotions drain away, addressing his soulmate directly with an expression of almost calm. _And you?_

 _New job_ , Q grinned back excitedly. _It’s good, it’s really good. I… I’m in a good place, now. I have a stable and safe job, and nothing to interfere, and…_

 _No_ , the other cut in, before Q could finish his little monologue; Q, as always, felt his entire being depress inwards, his mind communicating the terribly wounded subconscious of rejection, not being wanted. The man leaned in, pressed a kiss to Q’s lips, the projections of their bodies shifting closer together. _I can’t. I’m so sorry_ , his thoughts said carefully, as they kissed like two people who had never touched, and tried to catalogue the intangibilities of a form that wasn’t there.

-

“007.”

Bond felt his entire being freeze. The voice was too familiar, the body fitted too well to be anything but.

 _Oh fuck_.

Q even felt echoes of it, the accustomed feeling of a strong reaction from his bondmate, wherever they may be in the world; the nameless, faceless man from his dreams, shocked and frightened. Q’s forehead contracted a very slight fraction, even as he continued to speak easily with Bond.

He hadn’t realised, evidently.

Bond wasn’t about to tell him. He got through the meeting, and let his soulmate walk away, the adolescent-looking form comfortably ambling away from the man would complete him, and kill him.

-

“007… _Bond_ , listen to me, I need you to…”

A series of gunshots. Bond didn’t reply. He was in Afghanistan.

Q felt his entire chest, stomach, torso, rip open. It felt like somebody had ripped apart his body and forced it inside out, and he screamed in pain, as somebody quietly noted _agent down_ next to him.

He didn’t have the mercy of unconsciousness. He crumpled in the middle of his office floor, body jerking helplessly as his mind tried to escape a pain that wasn’t its own.

-

Bond woke up in increments.

He could already feel Q’s anger. It was a funny thing; for some reason, the more time he was exposed to his soulmate in person, the more attuned he became.

Q was angry. Truly, deliriously angry, in the kind of way that makes people utterly irrational and slightly crazy. Bond cracked open his eyes, fixed on Q. Blinked a couple of times to clear the fog while Q got started, his tone low and very dangerous.

“You kept your identity, name, everything secret,” Q hissed, green eyes glinting. “I understand why, now, but we’re on the _same side_ , Bond. Not just in MI6 terms, but for _fuck’s sake_ , I’m your goddamn soulmate.”

“It’s bad enough that you’re Quartermaster, you’re already vulnerable. Add me in the equation…”

Q’s voice was a harsh snap. “You’re already involved,” he pointed out, entirely accurately; in mental terms, they were immensely linked. The legalisation was all that remained. “Gunshots hurt, it seems. I thought I was fucking _dying_ , and somebody was telling me _you’d_ just been hit. My _branch_ worked it out before I did, I’m not very psychically adept, I never have been, I’m a goddamn logician and analyst.”

Bond took a breath; the ranting was a little too much to concentrate on, in his current state. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, genuinely. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Believe it or not,” he continued, tone drier. “I do actually care about you.”

“And I you,” Q retorted, still not very relenting. “Just… I wish you’d told me.”

Bond tried to reach out to him. Pain sparked across every nerve ending in his body.

Q rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and kissed him.

 _Hello_ , Q smiled in his head, as he kissed in every plane of imagining, body falling close to Bond while real life kept him a distance from the injury, the real and imagined conflating perfectly.

Bond’s face finally crystallised, bright blue eyes sharp and glorious. _Hello, my Q_ , he replied simply, the pair sliding into a partnership none would ever be able to equal.


	215. Chapter 215

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!! You two are my #1 source of 00q fanfic, so I decided it’s the time to ask you guys for a prompt. I’m not sure if you have been following the things that have been happening on the blog q-branch-enquiries where Q is captured and tortured by Sebastian Moran, but I’m dying to read some kind of fanfic that derives from the ideas. – anon

Q’s central objection was that tape hurt like a son of a bitch when it got ripped off, and also, Sebastian Moran appeared to have very few hesitations when it came to various torture techniques.

Moran was known to MI6, as was Moriarty. The latter was the true point of interest; Moran was more of a hired gun, without very many of his own decisions. Nevertheless, he had managed to abduct MI6’s Quartermaster, and was relatively adamant on keeping him for the foreseeable future.

“My employer would like to access the MI6 servers,” Moran told him flatly, entirely expressionless as he targeted everything below Q’s waist. Apparently, his hands and arms were still preferably going to be used for hacking, which translated to open season on every other part of his body.

Q wasn’t going to do a damn thing Moran asked, but it was nice to know that he’d still be able to work when all of this was over.

He was unconscious as much as his body, and Moran, would let him. He could taste blood in his mouth, tricking down the back of his throat, and tried to concentrate on that rather than the bruises and various cuts that peppered his thighs and shins and knees and feet.

Somebody threw cold water over him, and Q’s entirely body shuddered. “Sebby,” a voice chastised. “Tut tut, can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I? I wanted him all ready for interrogation, you silly boy.”

Q listened to Moriarty and Moran kissing deeply, with the type of passion that made Q wish for Bond. He was late, he was very fucking late, and Q didn’t know what to do with himself while he tried to survive the dual onslaughts of two absolute psychopaths.

Well. Psychopath, and true sociopath. Moran evidently felt nothing in the way of actual emotion, showed absolutely, disconnected dispassion in every aspect of what he was doing.

Moriarty, conversely, was utterly psychopathic. He delightedly settled opposite Q, tone playful as he explained what he wanted, abruptly collapsing into breathtaking anger before soaring back into giggling lightness.

Moran was the only one to touch him. Q was left motionless as they fucked at the opposite end of the room, something that caused a surge of true terror as Moriarty glanced over, winked as Moran came into him, strong arms keeping him held against the wall. “Maybe we should let Sebby try someone new?” he suggested, and Q gagged behind the tape.

Bond would come. Of course he would come. Bond would come, and he would kill both of them in a surprisingly innovative way, and Q would pretend to object and both of them would know he didn’t actually mean it.

Moriarty’s head tilted to one side, eyes bright as he glanced to Moran, behind Q’s head; Q was considerably more frightened by not being able to see him, and evidently, Moriarty knew that. “Now now, little Q,” the man grinned, fingers trailing along Q’s injured thighs in a way that was rife with implication; his voice dropped, dark eyes seeming wholly black as he leaned further in, Moran cinching something around his throat, Q’s eyes bulging, seeing nothing but Moriarty. “Don’t make me do anything to _really_ upset your boyfriend.”

The world started swimming, breath rasping and painful, Q unable to form words even if he wanted to.

At a gesture, the pressure lifted. Q sucked in air, head spinning. “Talk to me,” Moriarty ordered, grinning, eyes glinting.

Q shook his head tiredly. The grin fell away, and Moriarty gave a sharp gesture to Moran, who shifted almost inaudibly behind him.

 _Get a move on, James_ , Q thought frantically, before pain exploded through his shoulder, and Q passed out.


	216. Chapter 216

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m really in the mood for something dark and twisted so, serial killer!bond au? Bond fancies the computer nerd he found in a coffee shop, not in a make him one of his victims way, and brings him all kinds of gifts. It shows how much Bond likes him since all the gifts are the prizes he took from his victims. Q thinks James is a little odd but has no idea where the gifts come from. – runemarks

Q glanced up, raising an eyebrow at the man who slid into the chair opposite him. “Can I help you?” he asked lightly, minimising a few windows on his computer for security’s sake.

The man was blond, well-built, refined. His eyes were a sharp blue, and he moved with a type of extraordinary elegance. “Would you like a refill?” he asked in a voice like molten velvet, nodding at Q’s empty mug.

Q glanced over him, a shy smile growing. “That would be lovely,” he nodded, watching as the gorgeous man slid to the counter, ordering another of whatever the ‘young man at that table’ was drinking, and a double espresso.

“James Bond,” the older man told him, placing the tea in front of him; Q smiled, again, closing it in long fingers.

“Q.”

-

The blood was coating his shirt, but the jacket covered it neatly. Bond didn’t have time to get changed; Q would be back, and he wanted to see the pretty young man again. He was more interesting, something to clarify focus.

Q looked slightly shocked at Bond’s gift – a pair of cufflinks, taken from a man Bond had killed over four months ago – and thanked him regardless, blushing a little.

Bond couldn’t help but imagine the blood arcing from the young man’s throat, in an unquenchable stream, hot and red and intoxicatingly beautiful, the eyes turning glassy, marbles of perfect green.

No. Not this one.

Not yet, anyway.

-

Bond continued to bring presents, and Q grew rather used to them; they were pretty things, useful things. Various trinkets that fitted him perfectly, like the cufflinks he wore next time he saw James, the soft leather wallet that replaced his own almost immediately.

It was weird. They barely knew one another. Yet Q accepted the little gifts, accepted Bond quite completely.

His eyes scanned over a picture of a man, who had been found dead a few days previously. The police were looking for anybody with information.

The man was barely out of his teens, average-looking. The photograph was him at a wedding – the wedding he had been at, before disappearing – wearing a silvery tie, a terrifyingly _familiar_ silver tie.

Q’s stomach plummeted.

He had to be wrong, he absolutely _had_ to be wrong.

Bond smiled, bought him another Earl Grey, slid over a tie clip to go with the tie from the previous week. Q’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, thanking him anyway, voice a little quieter.

Q didn’t notice the blue gaze turn mercilessly sharp.


	217. Chapter 217

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey hon :) if you can, could you write something where Q has a brother who works for the FBI (in my minds he’s Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds) who comes to England to visit his brother, threatening Bond about hurting Q even when he’s as scary as a puppy?? Not reaaally sure how I imagined that, but oh well… Thankss <3 - anon

Bond opened the door to find a young man, looking vaguely awkward, glancing past Bond into the rest of the flat. “Can I help you?” Bond asked, eyebrow raised curiously.

“I’m looking for Q?” the man asked, in a light American tone, not meeting Bond’s eyes; Bond’s body immediately sparked with tension, hand reaching for his gun while Q shifted behind him. “Hey, Q. It’s me.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Q managed, pulling Bond to one side; Q reached out, a hand on the other’s arm, before being pulled into a hug. “Spence, what are you _doing_ here? James, this is Spencer, my brother. Works for the FBI, and is the only person I know with more qualifications than me.”

Spencer gave a slight nod, glancing up at Bond; Bond couldn’t help but smirk. He may have had more qualifications, but it seemed that Bond had just met the only person in the world less physically intimidating than Q.

-

Q had disappeared to make drinks – tea for himself, coffee for Spencer and Bond – when the diminutive genius rounded on the foreign secret service agent.

“Believe me when I say: should any harm come to my brother, I’ll kill you,” Spencer told him calmly, firmly.

Bond glanced at the other man, trying to make sure his gaze wasn’t pitying. Spencer, for all his intellectual virtues, stood about as much chance of killing him as a kitten with clipped claws. “I have no intention of letting him get hurt,” he said soothingly; Spencer raised an eyebrow.

“Your scepticism is obvious – I may not hold the gun myself, but I have friends who’ll do it for me,” he explained, with an eerie calm that reminded Bond of Q himself. “My department in the FBI would be able to take out a double-oh agent; they’ve eliminated equivalent standard agents in the past.”

Bond remained silent, still for a moment. He graced Spencer with a nod, of absolute understanding, utter appreciation.

He was pretty sure the man didn’t buy it, but that was beside the point. “I understand,” Bond said in a low hum, making as much of an effort as he could to hide his opinions on the likelihood of Spencer ever doing anybody any harm whatsoever.


	218. Chapter 218

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I really want Q hiding in some kind of bolt-hole and 007 having to coax him out. Maybe Q’s delirious from an injury or drugs and won’t trust anyone but 007 that’s it’s safe. – anon

“007. Second corridor on the right of the building, the end door. We’ve found him, he’s alive, but he’s not cooperating,” M explained, his tone dispassionate, devoid of any real emotion. “We’re having difficulty establishing injury, and we believe he may be a danger.”

Bond took a slow breath, and started running. When he got there, the team looked tired and irritated, and their leader just looked at Bond and sighed in relief. “He’s barricaded himself in here,” she explained, indicating a small cupboard. “We can get the door open, but we have no idea if he’s armed, and he’s refusing to cooperate in any sense.”

A nod; Bond shifted to the door, crouching on the balls of his feet, his voice gentle. “Q?” he asked; there was a slight shift from behind the door, nothing more obvious. “Q, can you hear me? It’s James.”

“I won’t do this again,” Q replied, with a deadness to his tone that was utterly terrifying. Bond had expected hysteria, upset, not the flat incontrovertibility of somebody who had been hurt too much to accept simple coaxing. “James Bond is not here. Try to get me out of here, and I’ll shoot you.”

Bond breathed out slowly. Q was armed, then. It made sense; he wouldn’t have hidden, without some way of defending him. “Q, agent 007, also know as James Bond, at your service,” he said instead, the line he had used ironically once when meeting Q for a mission debrief. He went on to rattle off a few security codes that Q – in whatever state – would plausibly recognise.

“James?” Q asked softly.

Bond smiled slightly, feeling a little blossom of relief. “Q,” he replied, confirming. “I’m here. I need to get you out of there. Are you hurt?”

A soft sound, heartbreaking in simplicity. “Yes.”

“Can I open the door?” Bond asked hesitantly, praying Q would let him. “I need you to trust me, Q. It’s just me. I’d prefer to not have another shot to add to my collection, hmm?”

Q shuffled a little, making tiny noises of pain as he did so. Bond’s resolve nearly snapped then and there, the temptation to just wrench the door open and find his young lover almost overwhelming. “’Kay,” he mumbled, almost lost to the wood dividing them.

Bond moved slowly, gently twisting the handle, letting the door fall open on the emaciated, battered figure of his Quartermaster, gun cradled in spindly fingers, pointing out the door. Bond didn’t speak, gave Q a moment to visually confirm who he was, before extending a hand towards the young man. “I’ve got you,” Bond soothed, as the overly large green eyes stared at him, wide and frantic. “Let me get you out, Q.”

Q’s eyes darted behind him, and Bond shifted, allowed Q to look out at the familiar uniforms of an MI6 extraction team. “Everyone’s cleared?” he asked in a soft rasp, the gun trembling a little. Bond simply nodded.

 The gun fell slightly slack, Bond darting forward to retrieve it, placing loose hands on Q’s body. Q let out a short sob, twisting his body in towards Bond, hands sliding underneath him to lift him out of the cupboard, and into the light.


	219. Chapter 219

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q hates it when other people touch his stuff, especially his unfinished work. Medical said he had a mild case of OCD but no one listens to them anyway. One thing that endears him to 007 is that while the man does nose around and touch his things he always put them back exactly where they were. A habit that James never drops even when he’s on home soil. – anon

Everyone in the goddamn world seemed absolutely hell-bent on _fiddling with everything_.

Q was going faintly crazy over it. No matter what he did, no matter how many death threats or computer threats or generalised warnings he issued, somehow, he still wound up with Tanner or M or Eve ambling into his office, and _fiddling_. His pens ended up in a ridiculous order, work was left at strange angles, all placing a very slight but important jar in his thought processes, which invariably tripped him up spectacularly.

Well. Perhaps not everyone.

Bond technically _fiddled_ , yes. He picked up various pieces of Q’s equipment, gently probed at his pending projects, borrowed his pens.

Yet he always, invariably, placed them back exactly as he’d found them. To the millimetre. Q himself couldn’t find fault; it was as though Bond entirely understood the importance of having things in their place, and consequently respected everything enough to keep things ordered.

Q began to quite liking having Bond around. He was the only person in Q’s office who didn’t make his blood pressure rise, didn’t leave Q’s office in a mess of inexact positionings and other little hiccups that distracted him and left him irritated and angry and frustrated with the world and everybody in it.

Bond knew, of course. He’d bribed Medical weeks ago. There was something about Q’s neurotic hatred of people touching his possessions, and/or moving them, that went a little beyond what Bond had expected.

Mild OCD, apparently. Bond was a long way from surprised.

He had an eidetic memory, more or less. It was an easy thing, to adapt, to ensure he placed everything back precisely where he found it. No matter where he was; on missions, he began becoming more meticulous about replacing items, regardless of whether Q was watching. He had the odd impression it was making him a better agent.

Bond tidied everything before Q came to his house, leaving the place tangibly clean, and free of clutter. Q looked at it like it was some strange form of utopia, making Bond laugh a little, delighted at his response. “I know how to take care of my Quartermaster,” Bond purred at him, his smile suggestive.

Q just raised an eyebrow, eyes bright, cheeky, delighted. “Yes. It would seem that you do.”


	220. Chapter 220

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q prompt on the song- Remembering Sunday by All Time Low, por favor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for suicide.

Q died on a Tuesday night. Bond found him on the Wednesday morning. Q killed himself in a locked bathroom, while his lover slept in the next room. He left a note on the bed, and the legacy of loss. A week later, Bond attended his funeral.

Two months, and Bond still woke up to reach across the empty bed, trying to find the man who had been there every morning, so many mornings. The familiar warmth, presence, indent, of another human being.

They should have had forever. Bond would have resigned from MI6 in a handful of years anyway, and Quartermasters always lived on; barring three, all had died of natural causes. Forever was a very real, very possible concept for them, and Bond had thought they both treasured that.

On paper, a life can be perfect, even when it isn’t. Bond knew Q was sadder, less awake, less connected. The spark was dying out, and he loved James, with everything he was, but love was not _enough_. One person cannot keep another person tethered to life.

It didn’t stop Bond wishing he could.

Each day, he sought out some shadow of that man. The sarcasm, the light smile, the gleam of excitement or interest or passion or anything, everything that made him alive, the unique little quirks of a human being Bond would never see again. The aspects that a camera couldn’t capture, that could only be seen through seeing somebody, the entirety of a human being.

MI6 pulsed with bleeding shadows, Bond trying to seek out his love, seeing Q-branch and blinking out images of a man with jade eyes and fading smile, clutching a cup with Q10 on the side, voice measured and brimming with implication, so much _texture_ , so many facets, each catching and casting light with a certain unique sheen, kaleidoscopes fragmenting as light shone through him, and he was colour and sound and beauty encapsulated.

Bond had planned out a forever. He could see being with Q, growing old. Idealistic, but then, Bond had always been one for idealism. Marriage, a home, somewhere where Q could grow old wrapped in cables and binary while Bond created and used a target range in the basement, clinging onto aspects of their old lives while somehow riding the tide in on a new world that they could settle back, and not need to be at the forefront of.

Leaving Q behind would mean leaving Bond’s dreams of normality. He couldn’t have that any more. Love had been tainted since long before Q, and he couldn’t fall in love again to spend the rest of his life on suicide watch. He wasn’t enough to keep people alive, they died around him, somehow, always, he watched the people he loved die.

Bond knew he was turning bitter again, cold. There was no revenge to be had, no way of screaming out at the world as he had before. He turned it inwards. He was an extraordinary agent – they always are, with nothing to lose – and began to lose grasp of the person he could have been. Q took him away from the standard masks and cruelty and coldness he so easily tended towards; his home was in the wreckage of a place once called Skyfall, now obliterated, wreckage somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

He returns. Mentally, if not physically. His mind returns to the man he had been when he first found MI6, the familiar territory where nothing hurt because nothing could touch him. The young man with the textured voice and bottled smile, Bond tried to stop seeking.

Returning into himself, becoming nothing.


	221. Chapter 221

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little fluff prompt: Bond wants to take Q out for dinner because of some special occasion. He makes a reservation but as they arrive at the restaurant they are informed that the reservation got canceled or is invalid or something. Bond is pretty pissed which Q finds rather amusing as it’s not a big deal for him. They decide to visit a different restaurant but are rejected again because all seats are taken. Q takes mercy on Bond’s patience and invites him for a homecooked dinner at his own place. – summerpoison

“Excuse me?” Bond asked, in a tone that was all lead and steel and absolutely murderous intent.

The waiter looked terrified, and rightfully so; Bond was visibly not the kind of man one wanted to upset. Bond had booked a table several days previously, and _apparently_ , the computer systems were registering nothing of the sort.

Q just found the whole affair quite funny. He’d never been good at posh restaurants or eating out anyway; they always felt overformal, a little pretentious and a little too _old_ for him.

Bond spent another handful of minutes arguing, while Q happily looked up at the stars in the evening sky, standing a few feet separate. When Bond finally strode towards him, looking like all evil in the world come to haunt a single hapless waiter in a London restaurant, Q just smiled gently, and hooked his arm around Bond’s.

The entire debacle was more or less repeated, verbatim, in a second restaurant after a five-minute cab ride, Q humming sonatas under his breath while Bond became noticeably more agitated. “James, calm down,” Q told him gently, and received something that was relatively close to a feral snarl in return.

Perfectly manageable. Q just rolled his eyes, and continued on with his life. Bond argued with another terrified-looked teenage waiter, and returned to Q looking like he was on the verge of mass homicide.

“Let me,” Q ordered; Bond glared at him, jaw set as he ducked into the cab. Q softly told the cabbie the address, settling in to look at his lover. “You do not argue,” he ordered, in his best Leadership Tone, the one Bond knew not to cross. Bond sat still, the chastised child, and Q moved onto an allegro, fingers mimicking keys as London flew by.

When they got to Q’s flat, he went straight to the kitchen. “Bond, sit down,” Q ordered again; Bond sat, Q handing him a bottle of wine. “Open. I’ll be a few minutes.”

Quite true to his word, Q was. He diced onions with speed and knifework that gave Bond mild grounds for concern, throwing them, tomatoes, peppers, minced meat into a large saucepan. He was wholly irreverent with any herbs and species, grabbing unlabelled jars and vaguely sniffing them before emptying seemingly arbitrary amounts in.

It looked like a madman let loose in a kitchen, and technically speaking, it was.

Q settled down for a bit, letting it simmer down, the room swirling with scent. “Will this do?” he asked gently, reaching a hand to lay over Bond’s, his smile mocking and gentle.

Bond reached forward, kissed him. “Thank you,” he said simply, hoping to capture everything in those two words.

Q smiled enigmatically, and stirred the sauce.


	222. Chapter 222

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just spent the entire Easter Monday looking through your prompts (as opposed to studying for my math exams) and OMG YOU ARE AWESOME. Like, seriously awesome. Like, supermeganfoxyhotawesome. And I was inspired by that one video of Bond cross dressing, as well as my own ineptitude in keeping my hair untangled. So can you write something with Bond (or Q, but preferably Bond) cross dressing, and then needing to brush his hair except he’s totally inept at it and gets it really tangled and knotty? – pineappledumplings

Q headed into the rooms to find a very irate double-oh agent, in a sensible skirt and elegant blouse, battling with a blonde wig that went just past his shoulders, adhered to his head. “Looking delightful,” Q said, with a faint smirk.

Bond shot him a look of pure hatred, and definite despair. “I don’t understand how women do it,” he said helplessly, gesturing at his head with sharp motions. “It won’t do anything. I just want it to lie properly.”

It was one of the funnier things Q could ever recall seeing. Bond’s blonde hair – which had been woven into his existing short hair, for the duration of his undercover mission – was ridiculously tangled, the brush dangling nonsensically in the middle of everything.

Q chucked his bags to one side, expression trying to look sympathetic, managing to look a little constipated. “Want a hand?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

As far as missions went, it was turning out quite nicely. Q was planted as Bond’s boyfriend, which suited them both nicely, and Q had been living with Bond for about four days. The hair situation had apparently gone from bad-but-manageable, to impossible-and-painful in the space of said days.

Getting the damn hairbrush out was a nightmare enough in itself; the ridiculous tangle of fine hair was borderline irredeemable, and for all of Bond’s stoicism, he seemed to have an incredibly sensitive scalp.

Q moved Bond to the bed, settling himself, Bond sat on the floor in front of him. He gently reached out, starting from the ends, working in tiny motions to untangle the chaos of hair. “You really trashed this,” Q pointed out; the top layers were halfway passable, the underneath layers a nest of hair.

Bond just growled, pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain as Q worked through his hair. He had no idea what the man was doing – making it worse, quite possibly – but was painless, and after several days of battling, Q’s gentler ministrations were ridiculously welcome.

After about half an hour, Q humming softly under his breath, he sat back. “Feel free to run your fingers through your hair,” Q commented with a delighted smirk.

Bond lifted his hands, gently patting his very _flat_ hair. He dug fingers in, letting it run through. “You’re amazing,” Bond said honestly, straightening his skirt, flicking his hair over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Q grinned, and kissed him softly.


	223. Chapter 223

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha/Omega mpreg?: Q’s halfway though his pregnancy when he cuts and runs. MI6 finds threatening notes and letters aimed at Bond and the unborn child if Q continued to stay. They made it past security and MI6 deals with the threat while Bond searches for his mate who’s surprisingly good at hiding. I would love a chase scene where Q manages to evade Bond, pregnant and all, at least once. Inevitably, Bond does catch him and convinces him to come home. – runemarks

It took a fair amount of effort, outrunning a double-oh agent. Bond could track down near enough anybody, with MI6 resources and his own intelligence on side; a relatively unsubtle, heavily-pregnant computer genius really shouldn’t have posed that many problems.

And yet, it appeared Q could be easily underestimated.

He missed Q in the first safehouse by a matter of mere minutes; Q even left an apologetic _sorry_ on a post-it note, waiting for Bond on the front door.

Bond went searching again. Q was good with tubes; Bond ran to the nearest tube station as fast as he could manage, throwing himself down the escalators, winding up on a District line platform.

Q was on the _wrong side_ , looking truly, honestly shocked that Bond was there, looking towards the oncoming tube that was rumbling noisily as the lights shone out.

Bond was many things. Overambitious was one of them. Suicidal was not.

He belted back the way he’d come, finding the opposite platform. Q, of course, was long-since on a tube somewhere towards Wimbledon, with dozens of stops in the interim that were all possibilities.

Bond cursed, contacted Q-branch for facial recognition scans on the other stops, before having an interesting though; it was possible, very possible, that Q hadn’t actually gotten onto the train. He would expect Bond to scan other stations, deflecting attention if he’d managed to get out of _this_ tube station, doubled back to the original house.

Pushing open the front door, he was greeted with: “For fuck’s _sake_ , it’s _impossible_ to shake you,” from his pregnant Omega.

“And it’s a delight to see you again too,” Bond returned, tone laced with sarcasm; Q looked over him, scanning his expression carefully. Bond modulated the anger, the hurt, for another moment. This was about getting Q home. “We found the messages.”

“They circumnavigated MI6 security; they could track both of us here,” Q pointed out, body tense, one elegant hand covering his distended stomach. “I don’t want to risk you, James, its ridiculous. I’m leaving, I’m taking me and our child, and _going_.”

Bond looked sympathetic for a moment, an expression that really didn’t quite suit him. “Q, you will still have heats,” he pointed out gently. “It won’t go away, if you leave. It’s our _child_ , I’m not going to lose that either. I’m not losing either of you. So come back, or I’ll find a way to force you back.”

Q gave a soft, angry growl. “It isn’t…”

“My choice?” Bond completed, eyebrow raised. “Well. As your legal Alpha, it technically is.”

Q’s expression became shocked, in a childish, pained type of way. “You swore you would never do that,” he murmured, almost breathless with betrayal. “James…”

“I won’t,” Bond said quickly, before he completely lost Q to panic. “Q, I’m just… you can’t do this alone. MI6 can protect you, _I_ can protect you. And myself, and our child. It’s my job. Q, please. Come home.”

Q sighed, twitched a smile. Accepted Bond’s hand tentatively, and let his Alpha pull him into a gentle embrace.


	224. Chapter 224

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw prompt?: Q loves kissing. In fact, nothing gets him riled up more than a good lazy make-out session. He doesn’t like telling partners this because he’s afraid they’ll think its silly. Fortunately for him, Bond is excellent at reading people and is more than happy to oblige lazy make-out sessions that turn his quartermaster into a pliant wanton mess. – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: semi-explicit

Romance was definitely dead.

It had to be. Nobody cared about the traditional, exceptionally good ways of enjoying oneself with another person. Kinks and experimentation and passion and really imaginative foreplay had become so prevalent, that the simpler things were wholly lost.

Q found it something of a shame, when he would happily give most of his worldly possessions for a decent seduction, and the ability to make out like a teenager with somebody he liked, have amazing sex where neither party felt compelled to try anything stupidly ambitious or ‘exciting’. Sex didn’t need to be wrapped in kink to be ridiculously good.

Bond noticed quite quickly that Q just wasn’t as interested in testing boundaries He was a very tactile, intimate type of person; the sex was breathtakingly honest, Q opening his body and soul.

And then there was the kissing.

Initially, Bond didn’t quite know what to make of it. Because it _was_ quite a teenage thing to want to do, and it wasn’t ‘refined’ or ‘adult’ or ‘sexy’. It was enjoyable and passionate and showed utter abandon, the desire to just revel in somebody’s there-ness, completely open.

Bond pushed open the door to the flat, Q curled up in the corner of the sofa, tapping on his laptop; he placed it on the table when Bond walked in, smiling in a wonderfully innocent type of way.

The smile broadened further when Bond settled next to him on the sofa, and pulled him gently into a kiss. Q sighed into his mouth, legs looping around Bond’s body, tugged forward into a straddle.

A satisfied hum, Bond feeling immediately how much Q was enjoying this; he took kissing back to basics, explored Q deftly, both exploring and loving and _wanting_ , Bond leaning back as Q pushed slightly, toppling backwards with a groan of satisfaction.

It was surprisingly enjoyable, actually. Bond was flat against the sofa, the pair writhing together, groins rubbing, Bond surprised to find himself already mercilessly hard, rutting against Q’s leg.

Complete abandon. Nothing mattered. They did what they wanted, nothing more or less; Bond sucked a deep mark into Q’s throat just to hear his soft cry, Q’s thigh sliding against Bond’s clothed cock as the agent moaned. No pretention.

“ _God yes_ ,” Q whined, Bond decorating him in marks and kisses, still marooned on the sofa.

He smiled, drew out another languid kiss from the panting man, whose body was working in convulsive motions against him. “My pleasure,” Bond managed in a low growl, Q crying out with want as Bond’s hands travelled between their bodies, watching the green turn dark.


	225. Chapter 225

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> established 00Q? One of Bond’s favorite pastimes is making Q blush. Whether it’s nicknames, deciding to walk around the flat naked, whispering dirty in Q’s ear, etc, he never gets tired of seeing Q’s ears turn pink and the inevitable flush that covers Q’s torso. – runemarks

Bond released his young partner with a smile, Q’s lips red, panting faintly as he watched the agent, eyes hugely dilated.

From behind them, M cleared his throat. Q froze slightly, entire body tense, wheeling around to the senior operative with his face an unbelievable shade of embarrassed pink, verging on outright red, high on his cheekbones and over his ears, juxtaposing neatly with the gorgeous green Bond loved so much.

It was one of the loveliest things Bond had ever seen.

-

“You know, we could always…” Q managed, as Bond dragged him along the beach; one of their few days off that coincided with a hot day in the UK – probably their first and only for the next decade – and Bond had deemed it sensible to take them to the seaside.

While Q slathered himself in suncream and frantically avoided direct light, Bond stripped down to his – rather tight – swimming trunks, and headed towards the water’s edge. Q watched, eyes wide, as Bond’s toned body ducked in and out of the waves. He was _gorgeous_.

“He’s a very lovely young man, isn’t he?” an elderly lady in a sunhat cooed at him, watching Bond with a similar expression to Q as he trekked back towards their towels. “ _Ooh_ ,” she said excitedly, as he came closer.

Bond just saw every single exposed inch of Q’s skin colour pink. He had no idea why.

The flush only deepened when he extended a hand towards his lover. “Come on now, love. Let’s show you off.”

Q made a strange strangled noise, and the woman next to him – who had to be in her late sixties – gave a bubbling little giggle. “Lucky you,” she told Q, who just looked like he wanted the ground to open, by now the colour of ripe strawberries.

-

It became one of Bond’s favourite pastimes.

Anything faintly sexual made Q immediately turn some shade between light rose and crimson, and all the digressions in between. Whispering all the things he would do to Q that evening at home tended to average a dark brick consistency of red, general sexual innuendo would merit fuchsia and a raised eyebrow, and anything public was an _immediate_ flash of bright, burning scarlet.

“Yes James,” Q murmured, green eyes glinting, letting out a soft gasp, teeth worrying his earlobe. “You can make me blush. But don’t forget…” he continued, licking a stripe down the side of his neck, letting out a soft whimpering pant as he shifted his hips forward, his voice almost a keen as he kissed every part of Bond he could reach.

Bond growled, body responding immediately, standing to attention as Q writhed on his lap.

And abruptly straightened, pulling away sharply. “… blood flow isn’t restricted to my capillaries,” he said, straightening his hair, looking very much intact while Bond panted, trousers indented obviously. “Don’t test me, James Bond. You won’t like it.”

Q walked away, and Bond couldn’t help but laugh.


	226. Chapter 226

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I love y’alls stories! I was wondering, do you guys do SongFics? If so…if it’s okay with y’all if you could possibly maybe either write a 00Q to “Sleepwalking” or “Can You Feel My Heart”, both songs are by Bring Me The Horizon! I feel like either song would fit them perfectly. – ponandzifan

Bond let out a quiet sigh, eyes flying open, fixing on the ceiling.

He never stopped waking like this, could never stop. Memories clawed beneath his skull, kept him awake, awake and awake, fighting the demons that lived under his skin, in his veins, an impossible and inexorable presence, memory and everything he had, years and years of pain and horror, seeing everything in the world, losing everything.

He was going insane, he was losing himself.

Q’s palm rested on his chest, measuring his heartbeats, keeping him intact. He can’t stop thinking.

Staying alive is habit and duty and nothing more. Dying takes a surprising amount of effort, where reincarnation is easy, survival is easy. He didn’t expect to survive most of the attempts to kill him. He didn’t really. He had been half-dead for years.

Q watches him quietly, almost unnoticeably, the undeniable _presence_ that sits out of shot, behind camera, who knows every facet of him and doesn’t judge in either direction. He doesn’t say it’s okay when it isn’t, doesn’t try to clip his wings for no reason.

Bond clutches onto his hand, knowing Q will take him away, extract him from a world that knows who he is, and will never let him stop. He is the property of the British Government, and they sink their teeth in until he’s dead.

James Bond will die on a mission. He knows this. He knows this with absolute, unequivocal certainty. The job will never let him retire – he couldn’t survive, in retirement, he would wither in a way he could never allow – and thus, he will be killed. A mission, some day, somewhere, a stray bullet or a gunshot or _something_.

Q is the first person in forever who makes Bond wonder if retirement is such a poor idea. Maybe – just maybe – he could avoid stagnation, avoid withering, if he stayed with somebody like Q.

Dancing with loss and pain are so immediate, so constant. Bond is accustomed to it. He knows pain will happen, will keep on happening. He hoped he wouldn’t lose Q, because losing Q would be the final straw.

He wakes and sleeps and moves, and Q is there. Q is always there, now. It is difficult to remember how he had ever lived, without Q. Day and night blur, they always have, it becomes impossible to know what time is when you work in four different time zones, often all in one day, and he comes back to HQ and Q is always there, always, no matter what time or what state he crawls in, he is standing in Q-branch waiting, smiling faintly, and agreed to come home to sleep for the first time in the past four days _because he never sleeps when Bond is away_ and they know, they both know, and that’s okay.

It’s almost okay and not okay and so okay it makes Bond’s head spin.

It has to be.


	227. Chapter 227

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI, love your stuff BTW, and I have a song fic prompt for you! I keep hearing the song ‘Lay Me Down’ by Dirty Heads and I think of Bond and Q. Could you write a fic based off this song? (no fem!Q please) Thanks!! - theoneandonlywhitetiger

The problem came in never, ever being able to stop.

They ran forever. Night and day became impossible concepts. Q learned to fly out of necessity, and Bond learned to fear once again. Their world rested on a knife edge, simply trying to find their freedom, their paradise, somewhere to finally _stop_ , settle at the end of the world and watch sunsets in peace.

MI6 were after them, unsurprisingly. The world was after them, for a while. They kept on running, and gradually, interest faded. Running rogue was novel, and irritating, and not the worst thing in the world so long as they didn’t cause any real trouble.

For a while they did, certainly. For quite a long while, in fact, they were able to _be_ MI6, on a remote basis. They did beautifully at it.

Retirement was needed. They had to escape, they had to run away where nobody would track them down. Where Q could drown in the perfect blue of Bond’s eyes, Bond watching the emerald glint in the half-light of shifting waters, a beach where nobody could be found.

Ultimately, they had to kill M. There was no way of avoiding it. M was the only one left still mounting the searches, the only one left who cared any more. Without him, they could find their paradise.

Q closed his eyes, Bond’s wide open, both opening fire with sadness and true, honest regret. M was not a bad person, not by any stretch; he cared too much for his country, and that was understandable. Respected, even.

The oceans sang, the scent of sand and heat and tequila, fruit and salt and sugar and water, the brightness of a waking in the middle of the day and watching stars adhere themselves to a black canopy as night falls, alone, together.

No more running, Bond promised, hand slid around Q’s. Nothing more. It ends, now. It ends here. A beach, fine sand, blue ocean. The promises of tropical storms and too-much heat and mosquitoes and daquiris and sunrises and colour and light and sound and sensation. Their world, their minute microcosm.

Q kissed Bond softly, like it was a first time. So much _life_ , so much to be led and seen and experienced. So _beautiful_.


	228. Chapter 228

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q discovers that Bond is a cuddler once sharing the same bed becomes the norm. A light hand on the wrist or waist evolved to full body embraces that are nigh impossible to break out of until Bond was good and ready to let Q go. - runemarks

Really, he just wanted to get to the toilet. It wasn’t an overly complex, or unkind need. He was planning on coming straight back.

Of course, that meant that Bond had attached himself like a goddamn _limpet_ to Q’s wrist, utterly refusing to relinquish his hold. It was almost funny. A gentle touch, instinctively tightening the moment Q tried to move.

On that occasion, it was six in the morning. He could wait it out. Eventually, Bond woke up, hand relaxing, giving Q the chance to escape and come back a few minutes later, Bond returning to cling on for dear life.

Within a few weeks, Q’s entire arm was being held hostage. Honestly, it was quite endearing; Bond somehow managed to cling onto it with breathtaking strength, refusing to let go, without cutting off all of Q’s circulation.

A month, and Q’s leg was being captured too; he noted it with faint amusement, experimentally trying to tug free, Bond’s overly muscled thigh keeping it firmly in place.

It was like watching treacle in ultra-slow motion, sliding over more and more of Q’s body, inexorably spreading.

Another two weeks; the hand spread over his waist, heavy, curling to his back. Bond tugged him closer, Q’s body flush against him. Q smiled, letting Bond’s warmth and strength keep him safe.

Two months, and Q’s entire body was encased. Bond was a living, human cage. Q was bundled into a tight embrace, Bond’s arms and legs literally cocooning him, clamping him in place. Moving was entirely impossible. The only thing Q could really do was intermittently rotate his left ankle, the only part of him that still had any freedom of movement.

Bond was a trained secret agent. Extracting himself wasn’t even faintly feasible.

Instead, Q started trying to wake him up. “James. _James_ ,” Q muttered, in tandem with some fidgeting; Bond’s grip became, impossibly, _tighter_. “James, you muppet, I can’t breathe.”

Bond grunted a little, turning onto his other side in his sleep without relinquishing his hold; in practise, Q gave a startled yelp as he was hoisted to the other side of the bed, his right ankle now the only thing free to move, Bond’s breath warm on the back of his neck.

Q rolled his eyes. Clearly, this was to be a long-term thing.

He sighed, resigned himself to a large amount of his life captured by James Bond’s arms, a solid presence he could do nothing about.


	229. Chapter 229

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q established, until Q found out that Bond is actually just an android-maybe wounded arm, arms fell off— (with some error = has feelings~~ you know the drill of scifi) But Q is a person that always sees machine/computer as a tools, so at first (after he found out) he cant see Bond as a person/lover. – anon

Q had kissed Bond gently, sent him out on his mission, monitored him as usual over the comm. system, watched as the man he loved proved that he was definitely _not_ a man.

The gunshot went through Bond’s arm, and there was blood, and that was fine. That much, Q could deal with.

A strangely metallic noise, and Bond’s arm literally _fell off._

Q’s eyes widened, jaw going tight. James Bond was not human. He was an android. A machine. A construction of metal and plastic and electricity and wires, sparks, a _copy_ of humanity. Nothing more than a tool, useful in certain scenarios, ultimately false.

The sense of sheer betrayal was not wholly unexpected. Bond had never lied, but he had seriously neglected to mention a very important aspect of him. Q took a breath, accepted that it was natural to feel a sense of anger, loss, betrayal, when something like this had been withheld over several months of a relationship.

No, actually. Bond _had_ lied. He’d feigned emotion, where there was nothing.

That particular realisation took Q’s breath away. He’d lied on the most basic, fundamental point.

Q refused to return a single goddamn one of Bond’s calls. He couldn’t bear to think about it any more.

-

Living as an android had many severe downsides. Including, but not limited to, the prevalence of genuine emotion.

Bond had been created in an era where artificial intelligence was highly experimental, and very often tried to mimic human life to such an extent that the end product was unrecognisable. The jury was out on whether those created androids could ‘feel’, in the human sense – but then, the same argument could be applied to many humans.

Somewhere in the depths of his records, there was a single line that detailed that he was an android. Medical knew, naturally, but they were bound by patient confidentiality, and kept no notes on computerised records for security purposes. Hence, Q didn’t have a hope in hell of finding out.

Until, of course, Bond’s arm came off.

The repair meant seeing a specialist, taking time out of MI6 while everything reknitted, and living through a long while in a lot of pain. His body was calibrated to respond like a human being; he had blood, a heartbeat, lungs. He breathed and ate and slept and worked and hurt like any human being.

He simply wasn’t one.

Q looked at him, and let out a small, discomfited shudder. Almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

Bond just turned on his heel, and walked away.


	230. Chapter 230

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has an outfit that drives Bond crazy. It’s up to you what it is, maybe it’s his pajamas because there’s easy access, a secret tailored suit, his day-off clothes, James’ clothes. etc. I’d love if Q was slow to realize that it’s the same outfit that’s guaranteed to get James more amorous than usual. – runemarks

Q was curled up on the sofa, yawning slightly, feeling very warm and very comfy and a little bit sleepy. His typing was a little sporadic, broken by the faint sounds of deeper breaths, clutches for his tea, little sips, purrs at the warmth that permeated his body by increments.

The onesie was something he didn’t wear much, mainly because he knew Bond would find it just a little too silly. Thus with Bond on a mission, and Q on a rare day off, he battened down the hatches and curled with tea and onesie for the day.

Bond wasn’t supposed to be home. It being Bond, however, he naturally managed to appear when least expected.

“What in the name of god are you wearing?” Bond asked curiously, glancing over the green onesie, palpably confused.

Q cringed slightly, sighing a little. “A onesie,” he conceded; Bond looked at it. Blinked once or twice. “Yes, I know. I like it, though. You can’t make me get rid of it, it’s warm, and…”

Bond was kissing him a moment later, and all other thoughts promptly flew from Q’s head.

-

The correlation was not immediately obvious, especially given that – even when Q realised – it was a little beyond him as to why the hell Bond would find a _onesie_ in any sense attractive. It was designed for lazy comfort, slobbing around the flat where nobody could see him.

Bond managed to take one look at it, and Q was pinned against the sofa, bed, wall – insert surface here – before he knew what had hit him. Q began to develop a Pavlovian hard-on whenever he put it on, given the inevitability of Bond’s advances.

“A onesie? Really?” he rasped, Bond’s body pinning him against the wall, steady and immovable.

Bond just chuckled, zipping downwards. “It’s the quickest way to get you out of it,” he purred, as the onesie crumpled to the floor, leaving a very naked Q feeling faintly cross at having been so thoroughly manipulated.


	231. Chapter 231

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can there be a part two to the one about Bond playing p.y.t on loop, except this time it’s suit and tie? //thanksamillion♥♥ - boothroyd

“I hate rap,” Q mumbled, eyes a little wide, staring a little, inches away from rocking back and forth incessantly. “I hate rap with all the passion and intensity of a thousand burning suns.”

Apparently, Bond had taken it upon himself to _not_ listen to Q’s long and colourful tirade about not bullying his staff, or playing incessant amounts of music on repeat. Q was going to _kill him_.

‘Suit and Tie’ was not Q’s ideal choice of music. Yet, it was everywhere. In the lift, across the floors, on-hold music. James fucking twat Bond had somehow bribed most of the people in the goddamn MI6 building to make sure the song _never stopped playing_. Q was twenty minutes in, and was already going faintly insane around the edges.

It was possible, very possible, that this would be the song to tip Q over the edge. While yes, Bond was gorgeous in a suit and tie, and _yes_ , he probably _could_ show Q a decent amount about love, Q had absolutely no interest when it seemed that Bond’s method of flirting hinged on making sure Q lost his mind.

“Oh my _god_ , Q, just go out with the man,” R pleaded, looking a little bit pale; she couldn’t handle this much prolonged exposure to bad music, any more than Q could. “Let him take you out, dress you up, I don’t even give a fuck any more.”

“I can’t. He’s an arrogant, obstreperous bastard…”

“Yes, you two may as well have been separated at birth,” R hissed at him; if it had been any other employee, he would have been yelling for disciplinary procedures for her cheek.

As it was, Q pulled out his phone, jaw set, lips pressed to a thin line. _Point taken. Tonight, eight, meet me outside. Please make it stop. Q._

Bond was supposedly _good_ at romantic gestures, Q thought mournfully, wondering if this was to be a theme. Essentially wearing him down, until he agreed to date just to preserve his sanity.

He was going on a date with James Bond to _preserve_ his sanity.

The ridiculousness of that statement only hit shortly after he’d thought about it a little bit, when the music had mercifully ceased, when Bond had texted back an unreasonably cheery little message saying: _Excellent. Dress nicely. 007_.

Bastard.

Ah well. There were probably worse things in the world.


	232. Chapter 232

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’ve read every prompt you’ve posted here, and you’re amazing (BOTH OF YOU), and I was wondering if you could write one where Q spends so much time focused on his computers that he forgets how to interact with the real world. He lives, breathes, and speaks code, and forgets that most people don’t understand it. Just an idea. :) Thanks for considering it! - catrites

Q spent a decent proportion of his time mumbling code under his breath. It was actually relatively endearing, on a normal basis; he would stare into the depths of codes and binary and lines and lines of things Bond could not, would never fully understand.

It became so much a part of him that removal was difficult. Q already had a very poor sense of time or perspective, would work for forty, fifty hours solid without even noticing, embedding parts of himself in a computer that would keep running and running, keeping the world turning, fragments of Q’s beautiful mind detailed in noughts and ones.

Bond would take him out in the world again, the younger man blinking childishly in the light, holding up a hand as though to block it all out. He would glance at Bond with curious confusion, and Bond knew he was not seeing another person. He was seeing a construct of equations, numbers, predicted variables and calculated risk assessments, the tilt of a hand or body, ready to be translated through to another agent, another camera cut, another world brought to its knees through deft keystrokes and Q’s concentration.

Q saw every facet of the world in a series of numbers. The calculated trajectory of a bullet in flight, the right words and numbers to take out worlds, destroy and rebuild, everything his to control.

Bond kissed him gently, noting the near-alarm at the physical contact. Q was never touched. His world was separate and distinct, anaesthetised, no part of him ever brushed with other people. Even his colleagues were communicated with through nothing more than words, often just emails, every reduced to pixels and lines and angles.

When he started mumbling strings of something intelligible only to him, Bond smiled gently. “Q, English please,” he coaxed, Q’s forehead contracting.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking exhausted, sleep-deprived. The world of computers never stopped, flicked around constantly, paid no mind to days or hours, not when Q was handling issues in several different time zones at once, none of which correlated to his own timezone. He finished when his agents finished.

Or when Bond came in to take him away. Leave that world to somebody else, bring Q to find oxygen and light and car exhausts and leaves, and rain and sunshine. Everything. A world of everything. So much touch, so much _stimulus_.

It felt oddly foreign, but beautiful nonetheless. Like seeing the real-life version of an unending computer game; it was finally _tangible_ , the things he noted on a constant basis were there. Yet, _yet_ , it was less focused. He didn’t _need_ to examine a body for the telling contours of a gun, or scan corners for cameras, or windows for snipers.

The world was beautiful and real, and Bond was there, his touch warm and steady and constant, immutable, something to cling onto when it all seemed too much, Q drinking in a world he barely saw any more, curling into Bond’s arms on an oversized sofa, letting the older man kiss all concerns away.


	233. Chapter 233

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Could you write a fill where Q and Bond are happly together, but slip innuendo litterally everywhere and whenever they can and everyone is so tired of their shit?? :D – anon

M let 001 into his office with a deep, pervasive sense of foreboding. “How can I help?” he asked, as she shot him a look of practically _rabid_ fury. M sighed slightly. “What did he do?” he asked wearily.

“If I hear _one more thing_ about Bond and Q’s sex life, I swear on everything holy…”

“No need to swear,” M interjected, hands up in a universal gesture of surrender. “Believe me, I entirely empathise. I am doing my best to curtail the levels of… how to put it…”

“… innuendo?” 001 suggested, teeth gritted. She was one of the best of the double-oh agents, and a breathtakingly frightening human being. “They both stop. Now.”

M nodded slightly, accepting the absolute importance of 001’s demand. She was far from being the first to ask; Eve, most of the field agents, a handful of double-ohs, Tanner. Tanner was usually entirely unflappable; it was a testament to how bad 007 and Q were being, that _Tanner_ had complained.

They would need to be spoken to. M sighed, and called them both to his office.

-

Sickeningly, the pair sat outside M’s office like errant schoolchildren, flirting outright, Bond’s fingers trailing into Q’s lap while Q _giggled_ , purring something into Bond’s ear that made Bond growl outright, fingers tightening slightly.

M cleared his throat. Neither jumped; Q blushed slightly, and Bond just raised an eyebrow with an expression that said _and?_

This was not going to be a simple conversation. “The pair of you have been making exceptionally inappropriate conversation while over the comms,” M opened, watching the pair of them with a serious expression. “It’s beginning to distress certain members of staff.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Q was trying – and mostly failing – to suppress a smirk. Bond raised an eyebrow. “Elisabeth got cross, then?” he suggested, looking a long way from repentant as he thought of 001.

“Tut tut,” Q said softly, casting a quick glance at Bond, his smirk somehow managing to be dirty. God alone knew how.

M stared at them, almost lost for words. “Put it this way – if you two do not desist, I will stop you from working together on any missions,” he said simply, daring them to argue.

Bond looked dumbfounded, Q just mildly petulant. “But…”

“No,” M interjected firmly. “I’m very serious. Out of my office – go _work_ , if you would, rather than spending all of your time flirting.”

-

Nobody quite knew how it had happened, but Q and Bond had stopped a great deal of their innuendos. They were almost… civilised.

The only thing that had changed was that they talked about their kitchen a great deal. A disproportionately great deal. So much so, that everybody began trying to hack CCTV, trying to understand the cryptic references to the kitchen, or why Q smirked each time it was mentioned, Bond letting out a low, implication-ridden chuckle.

It took nearly three weeks for them to realise the pair had a _goddamn_ codeword for anything sex-related.

M let out a soft groan.

Good god, but the pair were incorrigible.


	234. Chapter 234

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello can I give you a prompt? Can I have Bond wanting to shave Q with that old fashioned blade of his, but it’s actually a test from Bond to see if Q trust Bond? Thanks <3 – anon

Q was visibly, clearly uncomfortable. It was written in every single line of his body, from his feet upwards, muscle jumping slightly in his jaw, watching Bond with a stoic bravery that was really rather laudable.

It was nothing that impressive, even – except that Q had never been shaved with an old-fashioned blade, and absolutely hated the idea of a cutthroat razor anywhere near him. He cringed slightly when Bond used it on himself, let alone threatened to use it on Q.

Q had never really discussed it, but he hated anything touching his neck. Bond had subconsciously learned that Q wasn’t keen on kisses or touches over his throat, refused to watch hangings, nearly threw up when he saw a throat slit over the cameras at MI6. It was illogical, and not especially convenient, but he was relatively used to it.

Bond had asked, coaxed, cajoled. Q had seen something in his expression, something he wasn’t sure how to respond to. Bond, eventually, had asked: “Please. For me.”

Q had agreed, conceded defeat. Now, he was sat on the closed toilet seat, chin and throat covered in foam, feeling honestly and actively frightened for reasons that were purely visceral.

Bond wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered so much, but it _did_. He needed to know that Q trusted him, even with something that scared him, even when his body was taught with tension, watching Bond carefully, not moving a millimetre.

His touch was gentle, but Q still tensed ever further; Bond took a moment, let Q calm again a little more, before moving the blade closer.

Q was breathtakingly still. When the edge of the blade touched his throat, he let out the quietest noise possible, almost completely inaudible; he was _terrified_ , obviously so.

Bond paused. Q glanced at him, eyes slightly shinier than they should have been. “Are you alright?” Bond asked, the blade nearer his side. Q’s jaw trembled slightly, breathing going slightly funny.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, backing off, shifting away. “I’m so sorry, James, I just, I can’t do this, and it’s not because I don’t, I just, I hate things touching my neck and I really can’t deal with the goddamn sharp thing there, and I’m sorry, because I know you wouldn’t, and I know you’re careful, but I can’t, it’s an involuntary reaction, it’s just something I can’t quite help, I just…”

The blade was shut, cast to one side, Bond pulling his abruptly frantic boyfriend into his arms. “Shh,” he soothed, running a hand through Q’s hair, not caring about the foam spreading over his shoulder and chest, just keeping Q close. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

“I should have said…”

Bond hushed Q again, kissing the top of his head. “Q, it’s okay. I promise. I didn’t realise it upset you so much, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

Q would have done it. If Bond hadn’t stopped, Q would have made it through, he would have sat through something that upset him _this much_.

The ultimate demonstration of trust; Q trembled slightly, still apologising, letting Bond soothe him as best he could.


	235. Chapter 235

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond loses a bet with Q, so he has to parade around MI6 stark naked? Of course, Bond being Bond, enjoys it instead, and ends up causing a ruckus in Q branch much to Q’s horror and an exasperated M telling Q to get some clothes on Bond. Q ends up having to do something for Bond (like that cute nurse outfit Bond’s been trying to get Q to wear with a matching doctor’s outfit for Bond). - takaitakaiskyhigh

“I knew it, I damn well _knew it_. Clothes off, 007, and a walk of shame,” Q said smugly, arms crossed over his chest, glancing up and down Bond with absolute, delighted satisfaction.

Bond just raised an eyebrow, shedding clothes with customary ease. “If you’re going to place bets, ensure the forfeit is something the other _isn’t_ perfectly alright with?” he suggested lightly, clothing neatly folded on Q’s spare chair.

Q had enough time to look seriously frightened, before Bond _strutted_ off into MI6, completely and utterly naked.

-

“Care to explain?”

Q winced; less than four minutes, and he already had a phone call from M. Not surprising; most men, women, and variations thereupon were staring at Bond’s ridiculously gorgeous body. Honestly, Q couldn’t blame them.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing slightly. “Yes. I didn’t honestly think Bond would quite so happy strolling around naked; it was a bet, he lost a bet about my equipment.”

“I want him reclothed. Now,” M said shortly, and hung up. Q just sighed a little, and decided to use the whole MI6 intercom to get through to Bond, who was – by his estimations – somewhere around L-branch, being gawped at.

_Bond. My office. Now_.

Everybody in MI6 knew they were dating. Really, telling him to get the hell back to his office was unsurprising. Or so Q kept telling himself, as everybody in the rest of his branch gossiped and stared at his office door, and then at the blasé figure of Bond as he casually strolled through the branch.

Bond was unflappable. Q looked like a ripe tomato.

“Clothing. On,” Q announced, gesturing sharply to the pile of clothing.

Q blushed ever deeper when Bond moved closer, still very, _very_ naked. “Make me,” he said in a low purr, and Q’s mouth went rather dry.

“How?” he asked, in a voice a little higher-pitched than he was aiming for.

Bond leaned in, murmured in Q’s ear. Q flushed deeper, abruptly paled, kaleidoscoped past a charming little tinge of green before landing back with his face white, ears boiling scarlet. “I hate you,” he mumbled. Bond just raised an eyebrow, and Q sighed, unable to see many other options. “Yes, _fine_. I still hate you, though.”

“I know,” Bond said smugly, reaching for his underwear.


	236. Chapter 236

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for filling my prompt! I thought of another one while watching Casino Royal: Bond is a genius. Like he could have been Quartermaster if he wanted genius. I kept thinking that it takes more than just brute strength to get into M’s house (which is probably one of the most secured locations in Britain) and be able to hack MI6. I just think that Bond gets really underestimated in terms of his intelligence. I hope you have fun with this! – purebloodalchemyst

Q was babbling, just _babbling_. Really, Bond was very bored of his voice. He had managed to say absolutely nothing of any real interest, and nothing at all that was novel.

Bond took his earpiece out, slid it into his pocket, settled at the keyboard with a slight sigh.

It came back to him quite easily. He didn’t practise at computers as a rule, but he was accustomed to them, and they were easy once the logic had been addressed. Q would be going stir crazy at the other end – he always hated when Bond cut comms – but really, Bond was past the point of caring.

The passwords were easy enough to break, the firewall took a little longer. Cutting the security feeds was fine; Bond looped them back through the MI6 servers, handing control to Q, as directed.

When he felt strong enough, he slid the earpiece back in place. “Why didn’t you tell me you could hack?” Q asked, quietly, sounding almost betrayed, in a hilarious type of way.

Bond snorted slightly. “I wasn’t aware that I needed to report it,” he commented drily, strolling back through the building, calm and collected. “I’m quite clever, from time to time.”

“Evidently,” Q replied, almost audibly shaking his head. “Anything else I should know?”

“PhD in Eastern languages?” Bond suggested, wondering whether Q would be even faintly aware of it. “In fact, fluency in nine languages, not counting dialects. I dance a mean foxtrot.”

Q was quiet for a moment. “Nine languages?” he repeated, sounding faintly stunned. “Bond, are you… that’s extraordinary.”

Bond smiled slightly, rather enjoying Q’s reaction. “I’m aware,” he commented. “Never fear, Q, I’m not after your job.”

The laugh was soft and lilting, slightly challenging. “Couldn’t if you tried,” Q stated, quite incorrectly, caging himself into his computers defensively.

Bond continued walking. He had no need to constantly reaffirm his own brilliance; he knew he was an exceptionally intelligent man, and had no insecurities over it. Q was still young, territorial.

He would believe whatever he wanted to believe. And when Bond inevitably broke into his flat, he would make excuses for it, and continue to think himself superior intellectually.

It was quite endearing, really.


	237. Chapter 237

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! Back for more, please? Bond and Q live in a world of masked vigilantes, and they happen to be rival superheroes. Bond is from the traditionalist era of superheroes and a believer of suits and eye-masks (which really does nothing for his identity); whereas Q is part of the new techie generation of heroes who survey and fight crime from a remote computer in their pjs. They’ve been quibbling about their hero philosophy for some time, but now they meet. Love and thanks!! – anon

Everybody knew that James Bond was a superhero. He was very, hilariously unsubtle. The eyemask brigade were _always_ unsubtle; they wore their superhero personas like a badge of honour, which tended to make them easy targets back in the real world.

Q, meanwhile, couldn’t have possibly been a superhero. He was unassuming and quiet and slightly acerbic and skinny. Any nemesis would tear him to bits in seconds.

In the office, Bond and Q argued a lot about superheroes. Q made the rather compelling argument for keeping identities entirely secret, which Bond thought was in no sense maintainable when trying hand-to-hand work with various enemies. It passed the time, between paperwork and filing, the everyday bits and pieces which allowed them to live. Superheroes didn’t get salaries.

To be honest, they only met by accident. Bond’s superpower revolved around the ability to manipulate people, Q’s around manipulating numbers. It worked surprisingly well for both parties.

Bond broke into his house. Q had been remotely working on an arch-nemesis that he and Bond had in common; the pair of them knew each other, knew their work. They were arch-heroes, really. Q had really undermined his mission, and thus, Bond had decided to track the man down.

He broke through the window to find Q, in his pyjamas, legs crossed in a lotus position, tea cradled in his hands, long sleeves over his hands, yawning slightly as he looked away from the laptop.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Bond snapped. “I’m looking for…”

“Q?” Q suggested; he always thought about himself as ‘Q’, rather than his office name. “That would be me, James. Hi.”

Bond was rendered absolutely, entirely speechless. “You’re _Q_. Fucking _hell_.”

“Don’t act so surprised; there’s a reason I defend technological superhero work,” Q noted lightly, sighing slightly at Bond’s defensive, angry posture. “It works, Bond. I’m a damn good superhero.”

A moment of stupefied blinking. “So it would seem,” he managed, shaking his head. “I had no idea. I’m impressed, Q – if you don’t mind me calling you that?”

Q smiled cockily, sipped his tea. “Not in the slightest, Mr Bond,” he said with a polite nod, and went back to his computer.


	238. Chapter 238

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt for you! if you’re willing and now drowning in endless prompts. Bond and Q are out somewhere and he starts talking to like an old neighbor or someone who knows him but doesn’t know his job and they are like ‘Oh i didnt know you had a son!’ and its just really awkward and horrible for the pair of them. *i still think you’re fantastic!* - geek-in-a-box

Q shrugged on his parka, ignoring Bond’s disparaging tut at the thing; he had decided from the outset that he hated it, so Q resiliently wore it anyway, just to be faintly annoying.

It was snowy, as well, which excused everything. Q hated the cold with a burning passion, wrapped up in enough layer to make him look like a walking bundle of clothing, face just visible through his scarf, oversized glasses protruding out.

Bond held onto Q’s hand, helping him navigate over the ice as they moved to the car; it was just outside their flat that was bad, the roads had mostly been gritted. Outside, an elderly man was busy shovelling snow. “Can’t you get the kids in 2B to do that, Bill?” Bond asked with a grin, shaking hands when the man reached out.

“There’s life in me yet, bit of exercise, good for the ol’ ticker,” the man grinned back, leaning on his shovel, eyes bright, skin slightly flushed from exertion and cold. He was an ex-agent – the building was full of MI6 personnel, old and new – and really, Bond wasn’t surprised that he refused to sit still.

Q squeezed Bond’s hand subtly. “Sorry – Q, this is Bill Thompson, ex T-branch. Bill, this is Q.”

Bill looked him up and down, obviously assessing. “Bit young for Q, ain’t you?” he asked, before glancing at Bond roguishly. “Got his brains from his mother, then?” he mocked.

Bond’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Q blinked owlishly. “Sorry?” he asked, calmly, politely.

“Your kid, right?” Bill continued, nodding at Q. Q blinked again, literally lost for any words. “I never realised, but half the agents ‘round here have kids stashed somewhere, after all these years, well. And Quartermaster, I mean good on you, kid, M never went in for nepotism so you must be damn good…”

Thankfully, Bond finally managed to construct any words. “No,” he said flatly, almost in unison with Q, who’d also miraculously stumbled across the English language. “He’s not my son.

“I’m also _thirty-two_ ,” Q said, a little defensively.

Bill looked between them, eyes widening slightly as he put it together. “You old dog,” he muttered to Bond. “Quartermaster. Of course, James, you could never be normal.”

Q snorted, earning a glare from Bond, not looking even faintly apologetic. “Not his child,” he said, looking a little nauseated at the concept. “Definitely not. Christ.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Bill said brightly, clearly missing just how repulsed both parties were. “Easy mistake, you do look young.”

“So I’ve been told,” Q parried in a dry tone, glancing at Bond quickly. “It’s fine. Just… don’t say that again,” he mumbled with a distinct grimace.

Bill laughed. “You two go on your way,” he said, winking at Bond in a way that was just a little alarming. Bond just smirked, tucked an arm around Q, and disappeared off into the snow.


	239. Chapter 239

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mob AU? Bond is the right-hand man of M, who’s head of the criminal underworld. He’s well known for being a cold bastard. James meets a young Professor Q who has no idea who he is and isn’t afraid to talk back/snark at him. Bond’s surprisingly charmed and despite Q’s attempts to avoid the arrogant man, continues to pursue him. Would love if some of Bond’s co-workers are astounded that Q doesn’t suffer bodily harm for challenging/insulting Bond. - runemarks

Q gave a sharp sigh, rolled his eyes. “I am trying to work, if you wouldn’t mind?” he commented drily at the man in the doorway, who was watching with an expression of absolute smugness.

Honestly, Bond was a little bit sleazy; he annoyed the hell out of Q, who had several jobs running, and didn’t need to ward off the various approaches of a man who evidently thought a little too much of himself.

Eyes ran over both of them, watching the exchange as Q neglected to so much as look up. “I’m insulted,” the man purred, sidling closer – eyebrows raised on several people, and Q just rolled his eyes – pressing his body closer.

“And I’m busy,” Q returned calmly, with a few deft keystrokes.

There was an audible gasp that ran through the room; Q looked incredulously around at them, completely lost as to why they all seemed quite so frightened of James Bond. He was a twat, certainly, but that was hardly an earth-shattering revelation;

Bond’s body was warm, close, steady. “Oh, for god’s _sake_ ,” Q snapped, wheeling around, expression furious. “I understand that your sex drive is clearly _off the scale_ , but I have a life to lead, and I am _not_ going to fuck you right now just because you fancy it. Do I make myself _entirely_ clear?!”

Silence lingered, heavy and concerning. Bond was very still. Q continued to stare at him, green eyes blazing.

To the unequivocal shock of every person in the vicinity, Bond took a step back. His mouth quirked in the slightest of smiles, allowing Q his space to work again, nodding his understanding of Q’s tirade and accepting being asked to back off.

Q looked slightly surprised. He glanced Bond up and down, nodded once, turned back to his computer.

“Fuck,” somebody murmured from the back of the room; Bond turned with eerie quiet, fixing on them, the man’s eyes widening in sheer terror.

Alright, so Q was less malleable. Bond hadn’t been faced with somebody so _interesting_ in a long while; he was unaccustomed to irreverence and anger, unaccustomed in general to anybody not afraid around him.

Fear was boring, and Q was not afraid. Bond wondered if he would be, even if he knew.

Bond stepped back, watched Q work, while the rest of the building held their breaths.

This could be fun.


	240. Chapter 240

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do one where Bond and Q are assigned to a mission as lovers and must stay in the hotel of their target who gets suspicious of them and goes to listen into their bedroom. Bond senses that he’s out there and they have to pretend to have sex. Cue jumping on the bed and bond getting a bit too into it. Humorous please :) – clockworklove

“Target on the move,” Q said with a slight sigh, watching the tracking dot of said target, heading inexorably closer to their hotel room. “I’m guessing we’re not being interesting enough. I need to keep working, 007, we need a distraction.”

Very few things in the world could genuinely, honestly shock Q. He was pretty hardy. He had grown up with a family that truly didn’t comprehend normality; various shocks were something of a given. There was a point, in his childhood, when one couldn’t enter a room without a potential booby-trap.

Superb for MI6, of course, being unflappable. Q took every situation exactly as it came, and dealt with it.

However.

Q and Bond had been undercover for three days. The two agents were getting to know one another rather well. The sound of James Bond, letting a deep groan of pure, desperate sensuality, was enough to make Q literally lose hold of his laptop.

It slipped to the ground with a worrying type of thump.

Q glanced between the laptop, and Bond. Both of them looked back with an expression of pure innocence. “What, in the name of _god_ , was that?” Q asked in a low hiss, scooped up his precious laptop, checking it over with a shake of his head.

Bond smirked. “A distraction,” he said, voice low. Then, louder: “Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ , yes.”

There was absolutely no disputing it. James Bond was simulating sex noises. As a distraction. While a middle-aged man believed to be responsible for fourteen different assassinations listened in at their door.

Bond had the gall to raise an eyebrow at Q, as he intentionally panted loudly, making it obvious.

Oh, for god’s sake.

Q smirked slightly. As Bond watched, he let out a high, desperate keening noise. “James, James _please_ ,” he moaned, raising an eyebrow as Bond’s noises pretty much stopped on the spot. “Again, please, _again_.”

“Beg me,” Bond growled, standing up on the bed; Q watched him curiously, barely restraining laughter when James Bond started bouncing on the bed. Q slid off, leant against the edge with his laptop, attention almost entirely focused on the screen while he made truly obscene noises and Bond bounced behind him.

Q let out breathy moans, a little whimper. “Please, fucking _hell_ James, that’s, yes, _god_ yes…” he said, while typing in fluent Haxe, expression neutral, brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “Again, _again_.”

Bond swallowed, keeping his movement rhythmic, making sure he mimicked the pertinent speeds. “ _Fuck_ ,” he growled again, voice immensely low, a tone that made Q shift slightly where he was sitting. “God, you’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“Less talk,” Q panted, mouth twitching in a slight snarl as his computer refused to cooperate. He glanced up at Bond, at the very obvious erection he wasn’t even _trying_ to conceal. Q rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little. “Just, _don’t stop_ ,” he pleaded, green eyes wide and guileless. “More, James, please.”

Cheeky bastard, Bond mused, as he let his grunts lose form, letting out a deep groan as he ‘orgasmed’. Q followed, with a very intriguing shriek; Bond raised an eyebrow, and Q just shrugged slightly. It would do.

“… and target has left. Nosy bastard,” Q commented conversationally. He wasn’t very surprised at Bond hoisting him up onto the bed, pinning him under his body.

Bond kissed him deeply, passionately, and Q just smirked. This mission was altogether turning out rather well.


	241. Chapter 241

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Jen, I luff your fills so much! There’s this song I heard called “Living On A Wire" by Nitin Sawney and I thought of 00Q, and character death. So um yeah. Can you please write Bond or Q mourning the death of the other. Angst, hurt/comfort or whatever you choose. Thanks! – anon

Q settled down, cross-legged. The ground was slightly damp, but then, ground in England almost always is. The sky was slightly overcast but not irretrievably so, and the wind was predictably unpleasant.

There were no flowers, or anything so banal. Q just sat, watching a gravestone with no expectations, just the companionable quiet they had always been very good at. It is easy to underestimate how important it is to be able to spend forever in one room, with one person, and not feel compelled to speak or act or behave. They were always able to just _be_ , and really, there seems little point in changing anything.

“Hey,” he says at length, with a flickering smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He sighs out slightly, glancing up at the sky, revelling in the break that allows sunlight to shine on his right arm, not quite reaching the rest of him.

James Bond died of a direct gunshot wound to the head, following sixteen hours of interrogation at the hands of an Iranian terrorist cell. Naturally, Q had exacted colourful and imaginative revenge. Not, however, in time to save Bond.

Q shut his eyes for a moment, letting out a controlled breath. “This is harder than I imagined,” he admitted quietly, glancing up, forehead contracting. “It’s not like I didn’t have time to prepare, we always knew it would end like this, but bloody _hell_ , James. Ten minutes, five. Just… _fuck_.”

The stinging in Q’s eyes and nose became unbearable, and he gritted his teeth angrily, not wanting to seem weak. Every time they parted, there was the knowledge, the potential, for it being a last time. It made everything easier, and so much harder. Bond had moved in barely two months after they started seeing each other, they had established routines, they discovered and told and shared everything they could in whatever time they had, because it could end at any moment.

And, of course, it had.

“Is it wrong that I hoped anyway?” Q asked quietly, when his breathing had settled a little. “I know we were never… I _knew_ you would never have made it to retirement, but I wanted you to. I believed you would, really. You were the best agent we had, and I’m the best Quartermaster, and if the best can’t keep you alive for a few more years… barely even that,” he managed, trailing off.

Compulsory retirement. Bond was one year, nine months away from it. After a certain point, agents were deemed unfit for service, and retired. Only four double-ohs were known to have made it to that point.

Q wiped away tears calmly, gently. “I believed you’d be okay,” he confessed, the worst thing possible, the thing to make him contract inwards suddenly, knees drawing up, a sharp, jagged sob.

Calm took longer, this time.

“I put flowers on her grave, too,” Q said quietly, after a time. “I know you wanted to say goodbye yourself, but you kept bloody procrastinating. She won’t be forgotten, James, I promise. Obviously, you won’t be either.”

Q’s breath hitched once, just once. “I miss you,” he murmured, eyes closed.

A softening, a smile. “I have to go,” he said calmly, reaching out a hand, brushing dirt off the top of the stone. “Back soon.”

He didn’t look back.


	242. Chapter 242

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I’ve just recently discovered the 00Q fandom, but have been overwhelmingly impressed by the calibre and quality of all its lovely creative contributors, yourself most certainly included. I was wondering if you would accept another prompt: Q is in an abusive relationship, but doesn’t know how to get out. Bond is the one to help him get safe and start anew. I’d prefer it if it were more pre-slash rather than magical healing!smut, but I leave that to your brilliant artistic license. Cheers! - ariacantata

Q glazed over a little, typing on autopilot, not really seeing anything. He was sore, ached in a number of creative places, struggled to believe that his life had become this.

Any love had long since gone. Jonathan had become a constant aspect of his life, and that was okay. Better the devil you know, Q mused, feeling a twinge of sadness at the familiar tenderness over his abdomen; he brushed fingers lightly, abruptly tired, accustomed to the curl in his stomach that came with knowing he needed to go home soon.

He didn’t hear anybody come to the door. “Penny for them?” Bond said smoothly, sliding into the chair opposite Q; Q flashed him a quick smile, before his eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Your equipment?” Q asked calmly; Bond grinned, reaching into his jacket, handing over what was once probably a Browning A5, before the agent had completely trashed it.

Q shook his head, accepting it with a sideways smile; Bond’s expression suddenly froze, hand clamping around Q’s wrist, pulling up the sleeve in a single moment while Q tried to reclaim his arm.

The bruises stood out starkly, riddles of colour. “What happened?” Bond asked simply. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve been watching this for weeks. There are very few options, so I want the truth. Now.”

Honestly, it was difficult to want to lie. Q kept it hidden as best he humanly could, tried everything; ultimately, it was a relief, somebody finally seeing through him despite what he knew was his best efforts. He wanted help, but hadn’t wanted to ask. Bond wasn’t giving him the chance.

“I’d appreciate you not reacting with stereotypical righteous anger and fury, if you would,” Q said quietly, pulling his arm back, replacing the cardigan with slow movements. “It will not help anything.”

Bond nodded, watching Q carefully. “Somebody is hurting you, repeatedly,” he stated flatly.

Q nodded slightly. “My partner,” he replied calmly, ignoring the knot of near-nausea that rose despite himself; Bond’s jaw tightened a little, but he otherwise didn’t respond.

“Do you love him?” Bond asked directly.

Bond watched Q’s eyes close for a short moment, open again. “No,” he replied, very quietly, biting the inside of his cheek unintentionally. He glanced up at Bond, grateful that the man wasn’t sympathetic, wasn’t judgemental, but wholly and entirely neutral. “I’m not entirely sure how to get out of it. Unless I spend the rest of my life hiding out in HQ, he will always find a way to track me down. He has done before.”

A soft sigh; Q had tried to leave before, more than once. He worked in bloody espionage, but couldn’t work out how to hide. Jonathan knew where HQ was, had waited for him, ready to take him back.

After that time, Q hadn’t really tried again. He had been off work for a week and a half.

Bond nodded slightly, understanding. “I’m in the country on compulsory leave for the next two weeks,” he said softly. “I can help, if you want. Stay at my flat, I can accompany you to and from work in case he tries to track you down. Just a stopgap measure, until we work out what to do next.”

It sounded oddly… possible. Imperfect, and probably not tenable long-term, but it was more of a start than Q had had in a long time.

Perhaps it was fast, and perhaps it was a ridiculous idea. Bond was a double-oh agent with questionable drinking habits, trained to kill people for a living. Q was a computer genius who’d been trapped in stasis for a long while, too proud to ask for help, caving in seconds when somebody strong with a semblance of command was able to offer a solution.

“Alright,” Q said softly, brow creased. “If you’re sure.”

Bond nodded simply. “I’ll be around; just call me when you’re ready,” Bond said, watching Q carefully, leaving the younger man alone to deal with the blossoming, choking _relief_ that came with a possible escape.


	243. Chapter 243

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi um, I would love an AU were Q is a waiter at a fancy restaurant that Bond eats at, and Bond makes him nervous the whole night by flirting with him. Yes, idk you could extend it but the general idea of nervous waiter Q and smug Bond yeah. - anon

Bond settled down in his usual table, glancing with a Cheshire cat grin at the young boy who was serving him. Elegant, thin, dressed impeccably; his skin was a creamy white, body all perfect lines, entrancingly beautiful.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” he asked politely. British accent, a clipped tone, eloquent.

A roguish smile, head cocked slightly to one side as he looked the waiter up and down. “I’m sure you can,” he purred, in an absolutely undisputable tone.

The boy’s eyes widened very faintly, almost imperceptibly. He struggled for words, for the briefest of moments, before smiling with false confidence. “Would you like to see a wine list?” he asked, in a sweet voice.

Bond’s smile was lopsided, creeping through him. “Your best red,” he replied easily, with utter relaxation. The boy nodded, turning to leave smartly. “Wait a moment,” Bond interrupted; with a guileless expression, the boy turned back. “Are you any good with wines?”

“I’m in training to become a sommelier,” he replied with a slight smile. “Why? May I help you with anything?”

Bond sat back a little. “Your name?”

“Q,” he replied easily, and didn’t say a word further on the subject, even when Bond’s eyebrow raised at him.

Q was a curious name, perhaps a pseudonym, or a simple abbreviation; Bond didn’t contest it, merely nodded slightly. “Alright. I will be ordering the veal; I would appreciate your recommendation for the wine.”

It was amusing to see Q’s evident enthusiasm at being asked. “I would recommend the Isole e Olena Cepparelo,” he said, almost immediately. “Very rich, quite spicy; the veal is strongly fruited, you will need something weighty to balance it.”

Bond smiled, nodded contentedly. “I’ll trust your fine judgement,” he purred, eyes bright. Q turned away. “Q?”

Q turned back, looking a little stressed. “Yes, sir?”

Oh, how he would _love_ to hear those words in bed. Q naked and wanting, calling him ‘sir’ repeatedly, begging him.

Bond swallowed. “When do you finish here?” he asked. “I’d like to take you out for a drink, if you’re available.”

Q could barely form a sentence. “I, erm… a couple of hours,” he managed, with a strangely honest smile. “I… I mean, are you…?”

“I look forward it,” Bond said simply, letting Q go. Q dithered for a moment, before scurrying away.

Bond had never left so large a tip in his _life_ than what he did at the end of that meal. He didn’t regret it in the slightest.


	244. Chapter 244

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is off radar, Q-branch can´t make contact with him and they need to tell everything to Q. Hope you don’t mind letting you this small prompt :D – anon

Q was quiet, busy working. It was almost painful to see. He was very happy, genuinely, honestly happy. His work was such a vital aspect of his life, and it seemed somehow cruel to interrupt him now.

To be fair, after nearly three days without going home, it was probably quite important to interrupt him.

Eve had been elected to give Q the news. M was too impersonal, Tanner too awkward, R too falsely bright. Eve could be honest and sympathetic, but firm, which was what Q needed.

“We have news,” Eve said simply, settled in the seat opposite Q.

Q glanced up from his computer, eyes dark with exhaustion. He raised an eyebrow eloquently, clearly a little bit concerned, as Eve watched him with far too much sympathy to be passable. “He’s disappeared, hasn’t he?” Q asked quietly, green eyes very soft.

“Bangkok,” Eve confirmed. M had been handling Bond directly, given the difficulties of the mission, and Q being emotionally compromised. “We had an audio-visual link, everything went out. R confirmed; he’s MIA.”

A soft sigh, slow, calm. “It’s alright,” Q said simply. “This was something of an inevitably. Bond ends up MIA on a semi-regular basis. It’ll be okay.”

Eve raised an eyebrow; not exactly the response she had been hoping for. “Q…”

“Yes, I know,” he interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He… he could be dead, that’s a serious possibility. Yet he could also be alive, and until I know one way or another, I have no intention of sinking into crippling depression while I mourn somebody I once loved who may or may not have died.”

A slight hitch of breath. Eve reached out, placed a hand on Q’s. “We’re here if you need,” she murmured, too saccharine, too much.

Q raised an eyebrow. “You’ll need me writing the obituary,” he noted. “I have the spare one from last time, it should still be good, I’ll edit a sentence or two in the light of his recent missions.”

Eve retracted her hand, to Q’s immense satisfaction. She glanced him up and down, evidently alarmed by his calm, which was odd. Q had never been the type for histrionics during work hours. He kept everything until he was a long way away from MI6, where he could handle his emotions in peace.

When Eve finally left, Q closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath.

Five days, and he would be confirmed killed. After two weeks, Q would concede defeat. He would.

He _would_.


	245. Chapter 245

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In one of James Bond book, he once got tortured by Chinese general forcing him to undress, bend to touch his toe, and get spanked with rattan stick (i do not lie). Prompt: there’s vid of it and goes viral in mi6/gov. Bond s filled with rage/shame etc, q comforts him - anon

Bond’s jaw was set, dangerously so. He had the expression of someone angrier than they had any comprehension of how to deal with. Anger that ran deeper than a simple sting, but into the darker realms of true humiliation, the kind of anger that sets nerves on fire, impossible to quench.

There was not a soul in the MI6 building who hadn’t seen it. Q and M had tried to suppress it; it was a film of one of the most repulsive forms of humiliation and torture conceivable, and it was spreading around their headquarters. Q was righteously furious, while M simply repulsed at the nature of his subordinates.

In the interim, Bond braved it out. The glances, the smirks, the _knowledge_ that they had all seen, all _knew_.

Professionalism could only stretch so far. Bond swallowed most of it back as part of his job; information leaked, everything was known, his secrets while working under the banner of Queen and Country were not – could never be – secret.

Q knew he was angry, was hurting, in the imitable way that only Bond was capable of; nothing visible, all bubbling under the surface, an edged tang to the blue of his eyes.

“James…”

“There is nothing you can say that will make this easier,” Bond snapped at him; Q shut his mouth abruptly, taking a breath.

Bond didn’t mean to take it out on him. Q knew that. He _knew_ that.  
“These things blow over,” he said regardless, ignoring the growl from his partner, soldiering on regardless. “You know that. The Matthews recordings from a few months ago…”

A flash of purely _breathtaking_ anger. “That was a very different incident,” Bond snarled, closer to Q than Q really wanted, from a trained double-oh with temper issues. “This is something that is _pure_ shame, the Matthews incident was just a little unfortunate…”

“Yes, I’m sure Matthews felt that way too, at the time,” Q noted drily, unimpressed, holding himself together remarkably well under the onslaught of Bond’s temper.

“Come on now, James. It’s a storm in a bloody teacup.”

Bond all but threw himself into Q’s spare chair, in an excellent inadvertent impression of a petulant five-year-old. Q couldn’t help a slight grin, reaching out to his partner, closing Bond’s hand in his own.

A soft sigh. “Fucking Chinese,” Bond muttered, free hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

Q smiled a little, squeezed. “Don’t be unfair,” he noted mildly. “Only Chinese terrorist.”

Bond managed a slight snort in response, and Q felt a blossoming sense of relief. He would be alright.


	246. Chapter 246

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Just wanna say love the 00q prompts you write :) They’re fun to read and really helpful in inspiring me to write my own Skyfall fic. I do have one prompt that I’m wondering if you could do. Something along the lines of Q and Bond happen upon a haunted house and have to deal with a rather mischievous poltergeist, which wreaks havoc on Q’s equipment. Or the ghost could just be haunting Q-Branch. Completely up to you. Thanks! :D - thegraywitch

“Oh, for the love of _every god_ ,” Q yelled, slamming a hand into the side of his computer, swearing an abrupt blue streak while Bond stood back, barely suppressing a smirk.

Bond glanced over the blank screens, raising an eyebrow. “That isn’t supposed to happen, I assume?”

R glanced over, expression apologetic. “It’s the Ghost again,” she told Q regretfully, flinching slightly as Q all but upended a table in his blind, incoherent rage.

The Ghost had been in Q-branch for nearly two weeks, and since the very start, had been causing merry hell. Q was just about ready to bring the damn thing back to life in a human form, and kill it again. Or just find a Ghostbusters-esque box to store the damn thing away in.

For some inexplicable, sadistic reason, the Ghost was seeing fit to terrorise Q-branch. Ghosts were known to target certain locations, often arbitrarily, and occasionally linger long-term; Q was adamant that should the thing still be present in another week or so, Q-branch would need to relocate.

In its favour, it never cut power during important missions, where a life was at stake. It only played games where nobody would get directly hurt, and would cause the maximum amount of chaos for Q-branch.

Q continued to curse, throwing himself into his office chair, head in his hands. “Anything I can do?” Bond asked gently.

“Exorcise the fucking ghost from the fucking building,” Q mumbled into his hands, looking thoroughly pissed off with the whole proceedings. “Just… I don’t know, any more. I’d hoped it would be gone by now.”

Bond nodded slightly. “I could try talking to it,” he suggested; Q looked up at him sharply, suspiciously.

“You can talk to ghosts?” he asked slowly, in evident disbelief.

Bond just nodded; he always had been able to. Ever since he was a child, he had been able to communicate with the ghosts that riddled the earth. He knew it was rare, but had hardly though it was so ground-breaking as to inspire Q to freeze altogether, staring at him.

“You should have said so _days_ ago,” Q said, throat suddenly dry. “Go, go go _go_ ,” he continued, more urgently, pushing Bond out the door. “ _Fix it_. I’ll give you anything.”

Q looked delightfully, endearingly earnest; Bond just raised an eyebrow. “Anything?” he repeated, just for the record.

“Anything,” Q confirmed.

Bond was still smirking, as he opened dialogue with ostensibly empty air.

\---

Bond sighed, cricked out his neck; the poltergeist was adamantly hanging around, despite Bond asking it very nicely not to. Honestly, all it had done was laugh a bit, and petulantly refuse to carry on the conversation.

Q watched with anxiety and almost-desperate hope; Bond truly didn’t want to let the Quartermaster down – not when he was coming remarkably close to hooking the younger man into a date – and thus continued, trying to coax out an answer.

The Ghost, on a malicious whim, set off the emergency fire sprinklers.

“Fucking success, Bond, well done,” Q snapped; he had installed measures on his computers for the instance of the sprinklers going off accidently, but it was still going to mean a  _lot_  of extra work to clear up Q-branch.

He looked very, very beautiful when wet.

 _Oh, just kiss him, would you_?

A female ghost, then. Bond was a little surprised; the poltergeists were almost exclusively young men or children, barring one older man who, in his own words, regretted not having more fun when he was ‘young and able’. Women were definitely rarer. “No,” he said firmly, with mild annoyance. “Who are you, and can we help?”

_He likes you too. Go on._

Bond sighed. Bloody,  _sodding_  poltergeists.

Q’s shirt was sticking to his torso, becoming increasingly transparent. “And?” he asked Bond coldly. “Anything?”

 _I’ll go away if you do_.

“If you’re lying…” Bond warned; the ghost laughed again, a rather lovely sound. Q blinked, glancing around as though he had heard, looking back at Bond with a questioning gaze and water sticking to his eyelashes.

_Do it!_

Bond took several, confident steps forward, and kissed his Quartermaster.

The sprinklers stopped, the power came back on.

 _Be happy_.

Bond broke from Q’s lips, the Quartermaster reeling in his arms, held close. The laughter bounced off and away, the ghost’s words lingering in Bond’s mind, in his lips, compelling and immediate. “It’s gone,” Q commented quietly.

“Yes,” Bond agreed, and kissed him again.


	247. Chapter 247

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your work is awesome! Could you write some tragic AU in which Alpha!Bond falls in love with Omega!Q but then finds out that Q already has an Alpha, namely Silva. But Q is less than happy with his ‘mate’ and would actually prefer switching Alphas. But maybe that’s illegal? – anon

Q was a beautiful man, and an entirely perfect Omega. Bond took one look at him, smelt the pheromones leaking from his skin, and realised he was in a fair degree of trouble.

Not to mention that Bond’s feelings were entirely, obviously, reciprocated. Q was an entrancing young man, with a glorious smile, and transparent in his affections; he instinctively gasped at raw touches, kept as close to Bond as he could manage.

It was immensely unfortunate that Q had been bonded years ago. He belonged to an Alpha named Raoul Silva, the type of Alpha who reminded terrifyingly possessive of their Omega from birth til death.

Bond asked, and Q didn’t lie. Silva was not a good mate. He disliked his Omega having a personality of his own, his ambition. He expected Q to be at his beck and call constantly, and Q couldn’t do that.

Q realised quickly that he would give everything in the world to have Bond, instead of Silva. Omegas were claimed far too young, had no choice. Q had finally found his _true_ mate – the person he truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with – and couldn’t be with him.

It was a curious agony. Silva would never let him go. It was illegal to shift Alphas, once bonded, except in cases of abuse.

“If I was free, would you have me?” Q asked softly, tentatively.

Bond looked at him with something like pain, an unfamiliar expression for James Bond, of all people. “I would have bonded with you the moment I met you,” he admitted quietly, making Q nod slightly, breathing quietly.

Q suggested something with eternal, unbelievable quiet. His office was soundproofed, nobody would know what transpired.

Bond’s jaw tightened.

He nodded once, simply.

-

Silva’s funeral was held on a Tuesday evening. Q remained at the graveside, pride of place, every inch the mourning Omega for his lost Alpha. He didn’t cry, just watched, waited, utterly neutral. Bond did not attend.

Q and Bond bonded the next evening. They didn’t file paperwork for another few weeks, for simple propriety.

Bond hooked an arm around his Omega’s waist, Q smiling with utter satisfaction, tugged close. “Thank you,” Q murmured quietly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bond replied with a grin, and kissed him.


	248. Chapter 248

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I have a story idea for you and I feel slightly bad, you have so much work already! I absolutely adore your writings ♥ I would like to have a fic where Bond tells Q his usual “I don’t want a relationship because all my loved ones end up dead" reasoning, but then it’s revealed that Q doesn’t have exactly good history on keeping his loves alive either.. – anon

“Explain,” Q asked firmly, almost coldly, lips in a thin line.

Bond smiled slightly sadly, unapologetic. “I can’t,” he replied, as though that made any goddamn sense; Q’s lip lifted in an inadvertent snarl, and Bond lifted his hands in a placatory gesture. “Q, I’m dangerous.”

Q rolled his eyes, patently unimpressed. “Whatever. Let me guess, your death count?”

“Essentially,” Bond returned, without flinching.

Q stared at him for a moment, jaw set in a thin, hard line. “You are aware,” he began, in a low tone, “that you are not the only person to have loved, and lost?”

Bond blinked slightly for a moment. Admittedly, that was in no sense the tack he had thought Q would take. “Expand?” he asked simply, eyes narrowing a little.

“I haven’t been with many people in my life,” Q said softly, with a sadness only Bond could fully understand. “They all died. If I’m quite honest, they were my fault.”

It was something of a staggering thing to be told, really. Q was gloriously unassuming, in a sweet, almost innocent way; the idea of him being lethal to be around was somehow foreign. “I…”

“My last partner was in the MI6 explosion; she was hired on my recommendation,” Q continued, ignoring Bond. “Before that, a girl who was caught in the crossfire after I got involved with some questionable characters; that is just two examples. I am no less lethal than you are. The fundamental difference is that I honestly think you’re hardier than most.”

Bond found himself short of breath for an odd moment. “You want to be with me because you think I won’t die?” he repeated, with an odd inflexion.

Q nodded a little, fathomlessly sad. “You’ll die,” he denied, very quietly. “Of course you will. The difference is that this time, I may be able to prevent it.”

It was curiously heartbreaking, looking at Q, seeing him try to digest the sadness that lived beneath the surface. Bond knew that feeling. The inevitability of pain, _knowing_ you cannot save somebody, wishing you could all the same.

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Bond said simply, calmly.

It was not everything, but it was something. A start.

Q glanced up, and smiled.


	249. Chapter 249

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got a pet theory to offer as a 00Q prompt: Q is always the type to have found solace within computers and code since they make more sense than emotions. But after a crisis he finally has to face the long shoved back feelings, so cue a massive emotional meltdown and Bond following the tears. Would love for Q to see he’s not facing things alone along with romantic fluff in the end. Love the writing! – anon

Everybody has a point of ‘too much’.

For Bond, it was being shot off a train by a fellow MI6 agent, waking up with precious little idea where he was and a hole in his shoulder. Several months off-grid had solved the bulk of his problems, but without that, he would have imploded a long time previously.

Q took longer. He had a steady supply of anaesthetic, something to stop him feeling anything at all. The world was rendered colourless, and that was simplest for a while.

‘Too much’ came when an agent died, on a routine mission. Not somebody he knew very well, or cared for. Just another person, another human being, another life and accompanying death. A young man’s body shattered against brick and mortar, and the screech in Q’s headset that told him he’d failed.

Q tried, he truly did. He worked solidly for days, typing with a type of impassioned fervour, hands clasping tea or pliers or spanners or screwdrivers or a mouse or just wrapped on and over and through keyboards, mind trying to disconnect, trying to reach true neutrality as he needed, wanted.

Bond came to retrieve Q, to take him home. He didn’t notice anything amiss, initially; Q wanted desperately to stay, but then, he always did. Bond was accustomed to prying Q away from his work to go home, sleep, rest.

He didn’t expect the abrupt sob.

Shutting Q’s door very quickly, before his minions could see, Bond darted to Q’s side. “Are you alright?” he asked urgently, trying to lift Q’s chin, examine his face.

Bond was met with nothing like the emptiness he had expected from his lover, after several days in work. Instead, he found the fizzling chaos of somebody barely keeping a handle on themselves, eyes too-wide, frenzied. “I can’t keep doing this,” he spluttered quickly, shaking. “I can’t keep everything going, James, it never stops. I could work forever and it will never, ever stop.”

“What’s brought this on?” Bond asked gently, thumb gliding over Q’s cheekbone, pulling him off his chair and into a close embrace. Q didn’t object, didn’t voice so much as a statutory yelp.

Instead, he buried himself in Bond’s shoulder, and sobbed.

Bond didn’t have the faintest idea what to do. Q was never like this. In all the time Bond had known him, Q had never been like this; he made himself on being controlled and dispassionate, on true detachment and a desperate need to keep himself away from pain.

“It’s okay,” Bond soothed, still confused, taking it on the chin anyway. “I promise, Q. It’s okay.”


	250. Chapter 250

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love all of your stories, you are such an amazing person, thanks for making my 00Q dreams come alive. I have a prompt, hope you don´t mind, take your time. Bond returns from a mission before expected. He returns to his and Q´s flat in the middle of the night. Some angst and fluflly!! Thanks Jen! :D – anon

Q was awake the moment he heard the key in the door. He grabbed for his personalised Beretta, contemplating plans of action, pyjamas loose around his hips as he padded silently to his door, hiding behind it.

The movement was controlled and quiet, which boded rather badly. It was somebody with training, able to keep everything on a tight leash, presumably staking out the entire flat.

Q-branch never had overwhelming amounts of training, but they certainly had enough to know what to do if a hostile entered their flat unannounced. Q allowed himself a moment to curse Bond being on a mission, as he breathed imperceptibly through his nose, everything still, a state of suspended animation.

The bedroom door handle turned, still with absolute quiet. Q was barely breathing, gun in his hands, forcing himself to relax as the door was pushed open.

In an instant, Q’s gun was at the assailant’s head. An instant after _that_ , said assailant literally tackled Q to the ground, Q giving a startled yell before both parties abruptly realised who the other was.

“ _Fuck_ , Bond,” Q spat, picking himself up. “I could have fucking _shot_ you.”

“And I could have probably snapped your neck,” Bond returned irritably, glancing Q up and down. “Are you alright?”

Q couldn’t help but smile a little. High on adrenaline and anger, Bond still managed to look supremely worried as Q nodded. “Don’t do that to me again,” he said pleadingly, and let Bond scoop him into a tight embrace.

The perceived threat gone, Q’s body softened, melting in increments. It was always endearing. Bond kissed the top of Q’s head, conveying him into the bed and depositing him where he’d started off, crawling into bed next to him. “You okay?” Q asked, stubbornly attaching himself to every part of Bond’s body he could reach.

Bond nodded, winding his arms around Q, letting the tension dissipate; it was hard, trying to remember that Q was safe, that he was able to spend nights like this in somebody’s arms and forget everything else. He was very accustomed to being on guard for his lovers getting lethally hurt.

Still. At least Q could evidently take care of himself. Honestly, Bond was grateful for his reticence in shooting, or he would have wound up dead in his own flat which really, would be a poor way to go after the life he’d had.

Q nuzzled against his chest, making Bond smile faintly, adrenaline seeping out his body and finally, finally letting him sleep.


	251. Chapter 251

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, you’re writing is truly amazing and I always look forward to reading your little fics, they always make my day 10x better!! I have a prompt of my own, Bond is stuck in a room he just can’t escape from and there’s a bomb. No matter what Q tries, there’s no way to defuse it and they both end up confessing their love for each other. In the end it all turned out to be a training exercise by M, who had no idea they would confess. Thank you so so much, <333 – stuckinthetimewar

“Fuck, fucking _hell_ Bond, I can’t do anything,” Q panicked, voice harsh and cold and frantic and pained. “I don’t know what to do.”

Bond took a long, slow breath. “Q, calm down,” he said steadily, as Q continued to fret, his tone strung-out and terrified. “ _Q_. Really,” he repeated, feeling an oddly disconcerting sense of calm.

A single bomb, situated in the room with him. The wiring was trapped under a panelling that could not be removed; either on site, or remotely, there was nothing to be done in terms of disarming it.

Q’s breath suddenly caught. “Bond…”

“James,” Bond corrected without hesitation. “Q, be safe. Just promise me that. I’m sure you’re aware of my feelings towards you.”

“And mine to you,” Q replied quickly, almost instantly; he let out a light, horrible sob. “Fucking hell. This isn’t… I’m sorry, I…”

Bond hushed him, as best he could. “Q, this is _not_ your fault,” he said firmly, hand over his ear, trying to keep his Quartermaster as close as possible. “It’s alright. I’ve had more lives than most, it’s about time they ran out.”

“Fuck off,” Q spat. “This was not inevitable.”

A small smile, sad, reluctant. Bond refused to answer properly. “I’m sorry. I would have liked more time,” he said quietly, sitting against the wall, closing his eyes. He pictured the young man at the other end of his headpiece; eyes, body, face. Utterly unique.

Q let out a small, faintly hysterical smile. “You and me both,” he replied, and deflated rapidly, suddenly. Bond could half-see him, head in his hands, eyes shut in the way he always had when despairing.

“Have a great life, Q,” Bond told him, brighter than he felt, waiting for the darkness. “Goodbye.”

An almost entirely stifled sob. Bond wouldn’t have heard, if he hadn’t been listening to Q’s final sounds with all the intensity at his disposal. “’Bye.”

-

“Q?” Tremulous, impossible.

A sharp sob, not even slightly stifled. “Jesus _fuck_.”

“My apologies, gentlemen,” interjected a low, confident tone. Q felt anger – true, honest anger – throbbing in his throat. “This is training exercise two point nine one; I apologise, nobody could have foreseen how both of you would respond.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Bond said, in the quietest, most dangerous tone anybody could recall hearing in recent days.

Honestly, Q was far from prepared to stop him. Bond could kill at will. “M, you _bastard_ ,” Q breathed, feeling tremblingly angry, needing James, almost in tears. “Why the _fuck_ …”

“Training exercises are standard,” he said, as dispassionately as he could manage. “You both have three days away from MI6, compulsory, if I see you, you will be escorted out. Understood?”

Both agreed, without a moment of hesitation. “Where are you?” Bond asked, sounding vulnerable for the first time in his life.

“I’ll be waiting at HQ,” Q murmured, and settled back, a wash of some impossible emotion washing though him.


	252. Chapter 252

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because of very hot temperatures, Q was in a different style of clothing on his way to work, surprising everyone in his path. Probably some aroused!Bond, too? – anon

Bond took one look at Q, and his eyes widened comically. “Yes, hello,” Q said with a slight sigh, glancing over Bond, lip quirked with amusement. “You’re not the first, so come on, let’s hear an original comment?”

Q looked, frankly, extraordinary.

He was barefoot – apparently his shoes had been annoying him – with linen trousers, and a casual shirt that was almost entirely transparent. It had the crumpled look of one that had been festering in the back of a wardrobe for a while, probably worn unbuttoned were it not for workplace propriety.

Bond’s mouth went a little dry. “Why?” he managed.

“It’s thirty degrees outside, and I was called in on emergency notice; I didn’t have time to change,” Q explained succinctly, not bothering to hide his smirk; Bond jaw was practically on the floor, for reasons known only to himself. “Enjoying yourself?”

Bond nodded a little. “Distinctly,” he managed, seeing the silhouette of Q’s body through the notional effort of a shirt, the suggestion of muscle and immense thinness. He was _beautiful_.

A soft, loaded smile. “Well,” Q said, with absolute calm. “I’m sure you could take great pleasure in other aspects of my wardrobe, too.”

Bond saw images flick through his mind of the shirt unbuttoned, the trousers falling to the floor, hair messily everywhere as hands ran through it. He took a steadying breath, shifting almost imperceptibly to conceal the bulge in his trousers.

“I feel robbed, having never seen you like this before,” Bond commented suavely, as Q typed on various computers, feet lifting elegantly with each step as he moved with a dancer’s grace.

For the slightest of moments, Q pressed close to Bond’s body, palm flat over his heart. “You need only ask,” he murmured, against Bond’s ear, in full view of the rest of his gobsmacked branch.

The imprint of his hand felt like a burn, as Bond watched him in motion again, struck speechless.


	253. Chapter 253

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) I just had one idea. Maybe with a prompt Q wear one day the “purple shirt of sex" (thanks Sherlock Fandom ^^) and James see this and he always compliment Q about how he is sexy or another ^^ And when they go at Q flat they have sex and James tell that the all the day he wanted to have sex with Q because of the shirt. Thanks In Advance - tigrasevaddict

The shirt brought out everything gorgeous about Q’s body in one easy step. It clung around his torso, contrasted with the dark of his hair to make his skin almost transparently pale, beautiful, so impossibly and perfectly beautiful.  
  
Bond’s arms wrapped around Q’s waist, kissing the side of his neck, murmuring how wonderful he looked; Q smirked, labelled Bond incorrigible, and continued to work. Bond let go of him with such reluctance, the shirt collar and hair and white back of his neck in thin stripes, entrancing.  
  
He spent most of the day watching, unapologetic, documenting every inch of his lover’s body in that damned shirt. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing white forearms, and Bond could have sworn he felt himself stop breathing for a moment.  
  
Q glanced up at him, raised an eyebrow, his smirk suggestive. Bond shrugged slightly, remaining precisely where he was, watching.  
They barely made it into Q’s flat before Bond was kissing him.  
  
“I’m assuming you like the shirt?” Q murmured against Bond’s mouth, as the agent’s hands traced over him, over the material, ducking under and travelling along his flat stomach, tips of fingers just brushing his lower ribs.  
  
Bond growled, nipping at Q’s lip, keeping their bodies flush. “Next time, I won’t wait til we get home,” he promised; Q let out a low moan, heavy and rich with want, and Bond all but pinned him against the wall to attack his mouth.  
  
Q moaned wantonly, wishing for more, for everything. Bond made him come alive, unbuttoning his shirt with expert motion, letting it sink to the floor as Q wailed for more, for everything, please, James, _please_.  
  
Bond took perfect care of him, made him feel alive in the most impossible of ways, while Q writhed in his grip. So perfect, so perfectly beautiful it made him feel alive, pressed against the impossible creature that made him feel so alive.  
  
“I’ve got you,” Bond growled, as Q whined gently, pressing for more, please, James, more, and Bond curled Q’s ephemeral body in his arms, made him feel like he truly mattered.   
  
The shirt pooled on the floor, trampled underfoot, and it simply didn’t matter. It was merely an incendiary, a simple flicker that could start everything, and Q raised marks in Bond’s throat and Bond decorated Q’s body, and revelled in the simple sensation of both being there, perfectly and beautifully and wonderfully alive.


	254. Chapter 254

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (if this is too weird please feel free to decline) FtM trans*!Bond. When Bond was shot off the train in Istanbul he had been living, for all intents and purposes, as a woman. When he returned to MI6 as a man — as himself — it caused a lot of the other double-ohs to become very uncomfortable with him. James puts on a brave face and ignores it but secretly it really gets him down. Enter pansexual!Q, who couldn’t give a flying fuck about it, and comforts James when he gets depressed/dysphoric – ifmusicbe-thefoodoflove

Bond was growing used to the sensation of the eyes. Tens, dozens, hundreds of eyes taking him to shreds, taking his body apart as they pretended to understand, and _lied_.

Q never lied, and that had come to mean everything. He was not perfect with the idea of Bond’s gender change – he tried, but it was a foreign concept, and took adjustment – but he was alright.

The other agents, even his senior colleagues, were hardly supportive. M found it odd, Tanner had no concept of what to do. Bond was growing used to barely explaining, just informing people that _yes_ , he was male, now. He had always been male. He just hadn’t happened to possess the genitalia to prove it.

It was horribly tiring. Everybody wanted a different explanation, challenged him on every decision. Bond was so tired of trying to explain; he was male. He had always _been_ male. He was simply trapped in the wrong form.

Q told him he was perfect, and Bond honestly _believed_ it. He wasn’t sure why, just yet, but he was not prepared to argue; Q made him feel oddly buoyant, and Bond let it happen, because nobody had ever made him feel that way before.

When they were alone, Q’s mouth spanned the length of his body. Q murmured that he was perfect, that he was _everything_ , and Bond believed him.

“I love you,” Q murmured, entirely honest. “I don’t care what you were, what you are. You’re James Bond, and I love you, and I just…”

He trailed off, no idea what to say, how to convince his pained lover that being _him_ was than enough. It didn’t _matter_ what gender. He was the same person; electric and brutal and compassionate and loving, and _his_. Q could keep hold of a person with more imaginable facets than any other person, and take care of him

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Bond murmured, voice low against Q’s ear.

Q just sighed, kissing Bond like he was the last person left alive, like the completion he had always been seeking. “You never could,” he said, with absolute honesty.

Bond moved against him with confidence, familiarity, and Q just smiled. It didn’t matter. _None of it_ mattered. He had the impossibly perfect figure of James Bond with him, against him, possessing every inch of him, and that was everything. Perfection incarnate.

A low grown, and Q gasped. “Never leave me,” Bond managed, as his hips moved rhythmically, making Q’s vision blur.

“Never,” Q agreed, and whimpered as Bond targeted every sensitive part of his body, made him feel _alive_.


	255. Chapter 255

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Sorry to add to your pile, but your female Q just… inspired me. Q’s acting a bit ill, going really pale and going to the bathroom a bit more than normal. Bond’s concerned about her health and follows her home, to find blood on the bed sheets. He leaps to the wrong conclusion (i.e. pregnant, rape, disease), and awkward conversation about periods and menstration follow? lol You can probably tell that I’m on my period…. – pineappledumplings

Q seemed off.

Bond had no idea why, or how. If it was something he had done, or not.

Q simply didn’t seem herself, and Bond was rapidly running out of ideas to make it better.

There seemed to be an unholy amount of blood. Bond knew, he understood, a fair degree about female menstruation; yet there seemed a ridiculous, disproportionate degree of blood, indicating something far worse than biology. Hurt, perhaps. Somebody damaging Q, or an illness, leaving her in such a state where she couldn’t even bear to tell Bond, her partner.

Bond worried, fretted. Q revealed nothing whatsoever, and Bond just continued to worry in his usual way.

“If somebody hurts you, I hope you know you can tell me,” Bond said, dropping heavy hints.

Q looked at him, raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, but I seem to be quiet intact for the time being,” she teased, green eyes electrically bright. Bond smiled lopsidedly, believed her in lieu of any other story.

“Q, I’m worried about you,” Bond managed outright.

Q just watched him, raised an eyebrow. “Because…?”

“You seem to be bleeding a lot,” Bond told her flatly, unshamed; he was in a career accustomed to gore, to people hurt in ways that others could not always simply see. “I just…”

Bond stalled, seeing Q’s expression. Crumpled, humiliated. “Are you..?”

“Do you have any real conception as to how the female body works?” Q asked, pushing hair out of her face. Bond watched her. Blinked. “No, evidently not,” she sighed, sounding almost disappointed.

Bond dithered. “I…”

“I know you didn’t mean badly,” Q interjected, “but believe me. Bodies are unpredictable, and mine more so than most. Just… don’t ask, please. Please. I am doing my best. I just…”

Bond felt the blood drain from his face. Oh god. Oh _god_. Menstruation. It was just her period. Nothing more than that. A heavy period. “I…”

“Shh,” Q said quickly, almost frantically. Really, Bond couldn’t make it much worse. “Just please, don’t ask again?”

Mute, Bond nodded. Q nodded a little himself, seemingly placated. “Thank god for that,” he mumbled, and tried to pretend – badly – that nothing had ever happened.


	256. Chapter 256

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I´m in love with you and all of your stories, YOU ARE THE BEST PERSON, WRITER, HUMAN BEING OF THE WORLD!! May I ask for a prompt? Q falls asleep in the couch after finishing the final report of “Skyfall". James carries him to bed. Something EXTREMELY fluffy. Thanks!! – anon

Bond broke into Q’s flat because he was a) bored and b) interested in the state of his dear Quartermaster. Q was a lovely creature, all angles and beauty, and Bond liked to know the young man was wholly safe.

They had known each other approximately seven days. Yet – Q had already saved Bond’s life once. He could easily do so again. Bond had a vested interest in returning the favour.

Breaking into Q’s flat was surprisingly difficult; one had to give the young man credit, he took his own security seriously. Not seriously enough, however. Soon, Bond would need to address that fact.

Not yet, however. For now, it was enough to see Q’s slim form prostrate on his couch, papers half-drowning him, looking exhausted and simply, honestly beautiful, in a way that asked nothing of anybody.

Bond found him truly entrancing. He looked over the slim form, all intelligence and sharp acerbity and so much life, smiling faintly at his sleepy innocence. So young for espionage, after all. He probably shouldn’t have been in such an industry, but for as long as he was, Bond wanted to look after him.

He let out a soft, plaintive sound as Bond’s arms wrapped around him, lifted him. He took surprisingly badly to the sensation of being airborne; his fingers tightened painfully in Bond’s shirt, pinning him in place, attached like a sleepy limpet.

A lovely little creature. Bond kept him supported one-handed, pulling back the covers, depositing the young man underneath; he let out another little noise of protest as Bond pulled back, fingers moving as though disconnected from his body, grappling to keep the agent closer.

Bond could not help a slight smile. He slid on top of the duvet, arm cast over Q’s body, delighted when Q’s wiry body snuggled closer. There was nothing sexual in any of it; it was simply a need for contact, for support, care.

Supplying the above was easy. Q had a knack of looking fragile, while asleep; his glasses askew, expression utterly relaxed, letting the tension of MI6 spiral away into a near-naivety that called for protection.

After everything that had happened, Bond could honestly say he was happy to offer protection wherever he could. He had failed, so appallingly, so much that he had lost the most important woman in his life. A ridiculous thought, but accurate nonetheless.

Q mewled in his sleep, and Bond kissed him chastely on the temple. He shushed Q lightly, eyes and thought meandering, staring into the dark room while a young man slept on his chest.


	257. Chapter 257

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> introvert!Q who sometimes just needs to be away from people, even those he loves, and a really understanding Bond. I wish I had someone understanding sometimes, so if you could paint me a word picture I would be forever grateful. – anon

There was always a point of too much.

Q’s job didn’t allow him much leeway; he spent all hours needing to work with people, feeling like a damned performing monkey as he did all that was expected of him.

Ultimately, quiet was needed. Space, time, to _be_ without the constant press of people around him. Somewhere he could curl up on his own, with his computer or a book or some music, without the constant _effort_ of trying to be around others. It was exhausting.

Q had never found anybody who truly understood that. Bond was a serial extrovert; he was able to talk, relate, to anybody. Even language wasn’t a barrier, half the time. He just presented himself to the infinite multitudes of people he met on a daily basis, and was never afraid.

It was harder, for Q. He needed time to disappear for a while, even from people he loved, even from Bond himself.

When Bond simply kissed his forehead gently, told him to call if he needed anything, Q was rendered almost speechless. “Are you sure?” he asked, despite him, forehead contracting in confusion.

Bond tilted his head to one side in something like amusement. “I require stimulus,” he said, in his familiar gravelled tone. “I would find it almost impossible, to be alone for any period of time. I need people. You’re the opposite. I can understand that.”

When put like that, it was immensely simple.

Q kissed him again, all gratitude; Bond smiled, pulling back, slipping out of their flat without a further word on the subject. He would come back as and when Q contacted him; in the interim, he could go out, have a drink, do everything Q would never want to do if they went out.

Q tucked his feet beneath him, buried in the corner of the sofa, lights dim. He had a cup of Earl Grey, and a book he’d been wanting to read for weeks, hadn’t had the chance because of work and Bond and everything else in his life.

Smiling faintly to himself, phone by his side just in case, he let himself switch off from the rest of the world.


	258. Chapter 258

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Jen! I have smth in my mind if you interest! 007 and Q who are before James Bond and Q10 were lover !! I want (female)M’s reaction when she know that Bond and Q are dating. And she’s like “No, not again" and also tell Bond and Q the story about them. – anon

It transpired that a double-oh agent dating their Quartermaster was not entirely unheard-of concept. Especially not for James Bond.

M shook her head slightly when she saw the footage; Bond was quite extraordinary. The previous one had been twice his age, and this one was half. Then again, nobody had ever tried to argue that Bond was any damn good at functional relationships.

She called both of them to her office immediately. Q looked a little nervous, while Bond wore his usual expression of casual arrogance, the type that made M feel faintly homicidal towards him.

“I am aware of your current relationship,” she stated flatly; Q winced a little, Bond’s expression remained static. “I am afraid that I cannot allow this to continue.”

Q’s eyes widened, abruptly angry. Bond’s expression remained _infuriatingly_ constant. “Why?” Q asked, jaw set.

M watched Bond for a moment or two, wondering if he would choose to enlighten his young lover. Bond was so still he may as well have been stone; M rolled her eyes, addressing Q directly.

“Bond has something of a history, in dating his Quartermasters,” M told him directly; a flicker from Bond, a slight grimace. “Last time, the relationship led to a severe security breach. Not to mention that we lost that Q.”

Bond’s body jerked very slightly, and M raised an eyebrow emphatically before turning back to this young man, the child Quartermaster. “I am not going to condone the relationship, given the high statistical probability of it affecting your life expectancy, and work.”

Q was silent for a long moment.

“I…”

Q raised a hand, cutting Bond off mid-sentence. He looked up at M, expression non-confrontational, almost querying. “I believe I am capable of forming my own opinions on such matters, yes?” he asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. “The historical problems notwithstanding, I have already illustrated that I am quite unlike my predecessors. As such, it seems contra intuitive to assume that I would be subject to their fallacies.”

M was rendered speechless, for exactly the seventh time in her entire life.

“You intend to continue seeing Bond?” she asked, glancing at the agent briefly; his expression had softened, the bastard, a thin smile playing in the corners of his mouth.

Q nodded slightly. “Until I have a genuine reason not to,” he replied easily.

Nobody spoke for an odd moment.

“May we go?” Q suggested.

M’s mouth was set in a thin line, as she waved them away.


	259. Chapter 259

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do one where Bond and Q are buying a car and Bond gets really excited? I’m talking, ‘five-year-old is meeting Spiderman’ excited. – anon

“James, if you don’t calm down, I swear I will drug you,” Q snapped at him, fingers tight on the bridge of his nose, cursing every single god in existence for landing him with James Bond, in this kind of state.

Really, Q had never seen anything like it. The suggestion of a car had come up once or twice, but only in passing; London was relatively navigable by tube, after all.

However. Both were in dire need of anything that did not depend on British public transport; the Bakerloo line was down every other day, which tended to be their main way into work.

Thus, a car. Q had finally conceded defeat, and was met with the most bizarre noise from his partner; he sounded like a screeching car brake, crossed with a strange form of gurgle that just, altogether, didn’t make sense.

Working out what type had been easy enough; Bond refused to drive anything foreign, and had a passion for Aston Martins. Q – who only knew enough about cars to riddle them with devices – honestly didn’t care, so long as the damn thing got him from point a to point b.

Bond wanted to travel in style. Of course.

Q felt humiliation rise in his cheeks, and Bond _bounced_ from model to model, examining various aspects. He looked apologetically at the dealer, who was inches away from snorting with laughter, and understandably so.

He settled into a Vanquish, and literally purred. Q rolled his eyes.

“Of course – you’ve managed to pick the single most expensive car on the bloody _hemisphere_ ,” he griped.

Having said that, Bond suited the damn thing. Wearing his suits and his particular brand of smile, he would probably look like he’d been born and raised behind the wheel of a fast and expensive car.

Q tutted slightly, shaking his head. “Please?” Bond asked, looking every inch the optimistic six-year-old, hands clasped around the steering wheel. “I’ll let you fiddle with it…”

“Of course you will, it’s the proviso on us getting _any_ damn car,” Q corrected sharply, with another light sigh. Bond continued to stare at him, eyes wide, ridiculously endearing; it was impossible to stay hard-line in the face of it. “Oh, fine. Fine. The most ostentatious car in the world. Of course.”

Bond slid out of the driver’s seat, kissed Q deeply; he pulled back, clearing his throat with a quick glance towards the dealer.

“Where do we sign?” Bond asked happily, pulling Q along behind him.


	260. Chapter 260

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a dystopian A/B/O future where the Holmes have taken over the UK under their despotic rule, their little brother Q has just recently come of age and so they begin looking for suitable Alphas. It’s not going well, until at a meet and greet James stumbles onto Q and they realize that they’re true-mates. – anon

Mycroft was twenty-three when he, and his sixteen-year-old brother Sherlock, took over the United Kingdom.

Q was eleven at the time; exceptionally intelligent, but without the latent malice or political streak his brothers possessed. Q was always happiest when alone, tucked away with his computers, working purely in cerebral circles.

It came as no surprise, but was certainly a point of irritation, when Q was found to be an Omega. Really, it brought down the tone of the whole family, having an impressionable Omega, potentially to be dominated by some overbearing idiot who would not have the Holmes’s best interests at heart.

Thus, Q was to be handed to one that his brothers deemed ‘suitable’. Presumably some ridiculous, malleable idiot that was easily bullied by Q’s elder brothers; he hated it, but could not begin to argue. Neither brother would allow it.

Mycroft ensured Q was all dressed up, suit and tie, taken to some function or other; he would be the star of the evening, the source of attraction for a host of hungry Alphas who would desperately want a young, unbonded Omega of Q’s calibre.

Bond was there as part of the security detail. He was not supposed to be showing any interest in Q whatsoever; honestly, he didn’t have much interest in bonding. Taking some apathetic child as a mate hardly seemed a good idea.

Q all but crashed into him, not even looking slightly at where he was going; Bond apologised immediately, helping the young man steady himself, glancing over him for any harm.

No harm, nothing of the sort.

Instead, there was a flash of something impossible, something immediate and desperate and cloying. “Hi,” Bond said gently, glancing over the young man, all angles and colour and light.

“Hey,” Q replied, cheeks turning very slightly pink. Bond grinned outright, delighted; he smelt _perfect_ , entirely attuned to him, each part of his form mirrored and reflected and cherished.

Q could see Mycroft out of the corner of his eye, and that was that. Mycroft could analyse better, faster, than even Sherlock; any chance of keeping it secret was long-since gone.

A brief glance, a look back to Bond. “Get me out of here,” he said simply, with all the force at his disposal. The unrelenting power an Omega could have over his _true-mate_.

Less than a heartbeat later, they were both in motion, while Mycroft set off every alarm in the building.


	261. Chapter 261

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond comes home from a mission to find the shit beaten out of Q. It takes the whole weekend to coax Q into telling that another 00 did the deed because a mission went wrong. The other 00 didn’t listen to Q’s instructions and ending up failing a mission because of it. He came back furious and put all the blame on Q. Looking for some serious comfort and retribution. Would love it if a couple other 00s help out Bond – anon

Bond pushed the door of the flat open, feeling weary in every part of his body. It had been a long mission; three weeks of 007-styled chaos, wrapped with the incompetency of many supposed criminal masterminds. Frankly, it was a relief to get the hell home.

Q was asleep in their bed, looking about as exhausted as Bond felt. He opened his eyes a little, smiled foggily when he saw his partner, shuffling a little to accommodate him.

At which point he let out a very soft, sleepy mewl of pain.

It took very little to make every single nerve in Bond’s body fire at once. Anger or fear were probably the simplest. Both were responsible for the way Bond threw back the duvet, glancing over the curled form of his young lover, hands shockingly gentle as they pulled his pyjamas out of the way.

Q made a small noise of protest, hands trying to grip Bond, pull him back closer and stop him being upset. “I’m okay,” he mumbled, a little petulantly. Bond ignored him, fingers dancing over the bruises, noting the hiss of pain over the ribs. “James, _please_ , I’m okay.”

“Who did this to you?” Bond asked, in a voice like flint.

Q just groaned. “Leave it,” he muttered, pulling his clothes back in place, grappling for the duvet. “Seriously, James. Leave it.”

-

It took three days. Three days of Q wincing whenever he moved, of Bond’s mouth in a terrifyingly thin line, of evasion and irritation; he conceded defeat with a dramatic sigh.

“003,” he said quietly. “His mission was less than successful, he found a scapegoat, I couldn’t fight him off. It’s fine. Really. I’m fine.”

Bond disagreed.

-

The double-ohs had a loyalty to their country, to each other, and to their Quartermaster. The former was paid, the second was simple fact, and the third was born of the fact that Q was truly brilliant, and due to Bond, also fell under the second point.

In any case, nobody touched Q. Ever.

M ended up hauling the lot into his office, angry in a way that really didn’t suit him, three of the eight double-ohs present only linked by speakerphone. “Would any of you like to explain what happened to 003?” he asked sharply.

Bond didn’t bother concealing a smirk, which he exchanged with his usual partner in crime, 006. The others just shrugged, feigned absolute nonchalance. They had no _idea_ how 003 had wound up, badly beaten, in the middle of nowhere. None at all.

M cursed them all, forced them out. Bloody double-ohs.

Q smiled slightly. He had told Bond he wouldn’t listen in to the conference call in M’s office and was, naturally, lying.

“Thank you,” he told Bond quietly, when he came down to Q-branch, the other double-ohs hanging around like a collection of avenging furies.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “What for?” he murmured, ignoring the catcalls from Trevelyan as he kissed his Quartermaster.


	262. Chapter 262

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love what I’m reading! I have a bit of headcanon that says Q has a secert nerdy side and would happily geek out over anything from a new epsiode of Doctor Who to a new gadget. So for a possible prompt I would love to see him happily geek out over something, would love this to be 00Q and happy romantic fluff but totally open beyond that. – anon

Q was squeaking, and hadn’t stopped in a surprisingly long time. Long enough for Bond to get faintly concerned, and wonder if he needed to breath into a paper bag or something.

“Is it really that exciting?” he asked curiously, wordlessly extending the popcorn in Q’s direction; he kept a tight hold on the bucket, rather worried that his partner would knock the damn thing over if left to his own devices.

Q ignored the popcorn altogether, but thankfully desisted from quite as much squeaking. Bond shook his head in slight disbelief. “It’s _Star Trek_ ,” Q repeated emphatically, for about the fortieth time in the past two hours. “You don’t _understand_ …”

“I know,” Bond said wearily, as Q headed off into one again; he had spent his childhood watching backlogs of original Star Trek, was a puritanical original-series fan, and just a general diehard Trekkie.

There was also some frenetic something-or-other about Sherlock Holmes and a cabbage patch, but Bond really wasn’t about to query that in too much detail. Q was excited, and that was enough.

In all fairness, it had looked pretty good. Q had been absolutely _impossible_ about it, however; he had started the occasional comments months ago, building in an inexorable stream towards _this day_.

Q had even sat Bond down to _watch_ the original series of Star Trek. All three series. And the very strange collection of Star Trek films. _And_ the recent film. He had also promised to leave Bond the moment he suggested any of the Voyager or more recent series, so naturally, Bond had said not a word.

Bond was actually quite fond of the new film. The old ones were plain weird, and the original series suffered from special effects deficits, but it was good.

Q’s excitement was stratospheric, clenching Bond’s fingers in a vice-like grip, inches away from breaking them as the cinema darkened, and the screen lit.


	263. Chapter 263

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh hi! First off I want to say that I love all of your fics and you’re just the best. Second, I have a prompt for you. Dunno if you’ve done one like this but could you write a fic where Q gets kidnapped and buried alive and Bond saves him just in time? You rock <3 – anon

Q opened his eyes, to be met with a darkness impossibly absolute.

Initially, he kept himself quite impressively calm. There was a little more tension across his body than he would have liked, his breathing quickened instinctively, but he managed to not panic.

He lifted a hand above himself, to discover that the ceiling was about four inches above his nose, empty space. A bent knee confirmed that the ceiling height was consistent, hands groping to realise that there was no space, no _fucking_ space, he was trapped in a small box in absolute darkness and he couldn’t find a way out.

A coffin. Fucking _hell_ , he was in a coffin.

Hyperventilation was immediate; Q stopped himself a frantic second later. Suffocation would eventually kill him, long before anything else did. He had to make sure he didn’t run out of air.

Panic throbbing in his veins. Every single ounce of concentration went into taking the slowest breaths he could. Asphyxiation is an immensely slow, unpleasant way to die – until Q had established that there was no hope of getting out, he would need to work on some way of alerting the outside world.

Wood. Q ran his fingers along it, feeling for the bow of the lid, some way of indicating that the weight of earth above – which Q naturally presumed was there – had weighed down. A structural weakness could work in his favour, give him some form of escape.

Just beyond the centre, towards his feet. Q tugged his shirt over his face in case of dirt, kept his breathing steady, slow; he pulled in a breath, holding it in his chest as he lashed upwards with one leg, trying to target the weakness.

Very little happened.

Q tried again.

A slight give; Q couldn’t help the faint whimper, the unspoken prayer that this _could work_.

A final kick. He couldn’t afford much more; the exertion was making his breathing quicker, stealing his oxygen.

Q sobbed slightly as the roof caved in, earth flooding the coffin. Quickly, he started pushing as much down as possible, filling the coffin, earth flooding everywhere, loose but very much more than could be considered ideal, everywhere, covering him, and Q pushed his arms upwards to try and battle through the expanse of earth, feeling red-hot panic ignite again, forcing himself to all but swim upwards with strength born of being not-far from death.

Anybody could be waiting for him. Whoever had buried him – and Q had a fairly good idea, given what he had been working on – could be waiting. Honestly, Q was prepared to take a bullet through the brain in preference to the slow suffocation his own coffin promised.

Q was rapidly coming to the realisation that he just wasn’t strong enough. Several feet of earth weighed above him, too much, too heavy. His matchstick arms couldn’t keep it away, before it crushed him, swallowed him completely.

There was motion, a voice. A definite voice. Q screamed abruptly, trying to get attention, somebody to get him _out_.

Light.

Arms looped around him, tugged him upwards, wrenching him free of the earth around him; Q let out a frantic sob of pain at the pressure on his joints, whipping the shirt down off his face to let in real air, light, the world, _freedom_.

Bond held onto him with bruising closeness, as Q trembled in his arms, screaming just because he _could_ , because he was out, he was not going to die in there and Bond was there, Bond was protecting him.

“I’ve got you,” Bond repeated, as Q’s screams died back a bit, the shaking through his body a little less pronounced. “It’s okay, Q. I’ve got you.”


	264. Chapter 264

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello, i check your blog everyday to read your mini fic. i just listen to a song that fit perfectly to my otp. could you do fic based on Enrique Iglesias and Whitney Houston song “Could I Have This Kiss Forever" ? Thank You :) – anon

The very first time either of them broached the subject of being more than simply colleagues, or friends, it was all Q.

Quite honestly, Bond had not anticipated ever being with somebody like Q. He was quiet, brilliant, elegant. Male. Not precisely ideal, by any stretch of the imagination.

Of course, he was a delight to be around. All laughter and sarcasm and blinding intelligence, a type of instinctive brilliance that Bond couldn’t help but like; he was a little enigma, a touch of something hidden and delicate and merciless.

When his lips – soft, warm – pressed against Bond’s, there was a heartbeat of simple shock. This was wrong. This was not James Bond, womaniser, who would stare at the female form and purr slightly, would pursue, would take where he liked and never be afraid.

Q made him afraid, where nothing else did. That was an achievement in and of itself.

And curiously, not as abhorrent as Bond had imagined it might be. Fear was exhilarating, in its own way. It allowed Bond a different way of seeing the world, even for a short while, the world tinted by one of the most visceral emotions possible.

Bond’s brain stopped. Perfectly, absolutely. Q kissed him with a type of near flippancy, a suggestion that Bond was not the be-all, but was still important. The underlying thought: I want to be with you. It’s okay if you don’t.

Q had not fallen at his feet, confessing undying love or anything so trite. He had simply presented himself to Bond precisely as he was, and allowed Bond to respond however he liked.

In theory, this was wrong. This was not who he was, or what he wanted.

In practise, the world had stopped. Everything had been put on hold for a beautiful moment, a moment wholly consisting of Q. Bond would have given almost anything for that moment to never end; to fall into Q, fall apart with him.

“Well then, Mr Bond,” Q murmured against his mouth. “That answers the immortal question as to your sexuality, hmm?”

Bond pressed his lips back, letting the question fizzle out, disappear. Not now. He had no interest in considering any of that just yet. For now, it was enough to just _be_. To have Q there, to _let himself_ be very much infatuated with the ridiculous man. Perhaps it would last, perhaps it would not.

For now, at least, it was enough.


	265. Chapter 265

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I love your fills, and I was wondering if you could do my one; James convinces Q to go on holiday with him, but Q has a panic attack on the plane due to his fear of flying – anon

Q managed to get onto the plane, which was a decent start. He had been very reluctant – more than reluctant, really. He had done everything from coercion to blackmail to out-and-out lying, in the hope of getting out of the mission.

Bond had packaged it well; yes, it involved a flight, but Greece was beautiful this time of year and Q would love it and he could be fed souvlaki and taramasalata until he threw up, and would have an altogether wonderful time. Q had agreed, mostly because M had threatened to pull him from one of his favourite upcoming missions.

He was now curled in a first-class seat, looking like every single nightmare he could imagine was happening at once.

When the plane began moving, Q’s fists clenched very tightly, knuckles a terrifyingly bright white, digging crescents into his palms. To Bond’s absolute horror, he had started to cry, absolutely silently.

“Q, it’s okay,” Bond coaxed, reaching out to his partner, Q’s eyes squeezed very tightly shut. “ _Q_ , look at me.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Q whispered, managing a soft whimper as the plane stopped, reaching the runway itself. “James, _James_ , please don’t make me do this, _please_ , please, get me off this thing, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry but I can’t…”

The plane shot forward, increasing speed, eventually lifting off the ground, relatively smoothly.

Q lasted exactly fifteen seconds before violently throwing up, into the bucket Bond had supplied ‘just in case’ on Q’s orders, not really thinking it would be required.

Bond curved an arm around Q’s back, other hand pushing his hair out of his eyes, retrieving his glasses before they went flying. “Please, James, _please_ ,” Q sobbed, entire body shaking, completely out of control. “James, _James_ I can’t do this, I can’t, please just _fuck_ , jesus _fuck_ , get me out, please, please, make it stop, please…”

He wasn’t even screaming, just keening in panic, sobbing absolutely hysterically while his body contracted in dry retching.

MI6 were useful; the rest of the cabin was all but deserted. Air hostesses were fretting everywhere while the poor sweet boy had a breathless, horrible panic attack. “ _Please_ ,” Q all but cried, body curling up deeper while the plane stabilised, each shift of altitude making Q’s stomach drop and his panic increase exponentially.

Bond could do nothing. He tried, he honestly did, but Q was so far away from any type of calm that there was nothing, nothing at all, that would reach him.

“Q, what can I do?”

“Your bag,” he managed to reply, the scream sounding trapped in his throat, unvoiced, clouded by his purely desperate panic, the terror of somebody who was literally resigned to his fate. “There’s a narcotic dart in the handle, just do it, _please_ , knock me out, I don’t want to be conscious for any more of this, James, I’m sorry, I know, I know you must think…”

Bond hushed him, pulling away to reach for his bag while Q retched acid bile into the bowl, sobbing, the air hostesses frantically asking if they needed to make an emergency landing, and Bond just shook his head and shooed them away, and fired a tranquilliser dart into Q’s body.

Finally, everything stopped. Q’s body went from hysterical tension to completely limp in the space of a handful of seconds.

“I’m so sorry,” Bond murmured to his unconscious body, gently wiping bile from around his lips, arranging his hair again. “My poor Q.”

Really, Bond was just terrified for the journey back, now.


	266. Chapter 266

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to the nature of his work and personality, James has always been passionate but fairly casual and non-invasive with his relationships. Q is the first person he’s really been committed to and intends to stay with as long as he possibly can. The result is that when someone comes poking around Q, James is rather confused by his new possessive inclinations. – anon

Bond had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

There were so many reasons he did not wish to get attached to others. It was an immensely poor idea given his job, and other people tended to be problematic, in general. Twining one’s life with another would inevitably cause chaos.

Q, therefore, was a bit of a surprise. For no explicable reason, Bond had managed to fall quite entirely for somebody he had no expected, and more than that, had fallen so entirely he had lost his grasp of all sense or perspective.

All his previous relationship had been transitory things, not designed or expected to last very long. Jealousy was a moot point, therefore. Being jealous usually wasn’t worth the energy.

With Q, Bond merely needed to catch somebody _looking_ at his lover, and felt truly impressive levels of anger spike through his body.

Altogether less than ideal.

Q found it very endearing. What was more, he was _just_ as possessive. If not more so. He just happened to be subtler; while Bond was prepared to _shoot_ people, Q just ruined their lives via technology.

“It’s normal,” he sighed happily to Bond, one evening. “You become attached to somebody, and clamp down on them. I’ll happily take out anybody who so much as _looks_ at you the wrong way.”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Excellent, Q, but I have both the training and inclination to _literally_ kill people. Somehow, I’m guessing that’s not the idea of ‘possessiveness’.”

Q laughed, pulling his lover in for a brief kiss. “Worry less. Avoid homicide. Of me in particular, jealousy is a funny old thing.”

“I’d never hurt you,” Bond said, offended, and something like _confused_ at the mere suggestion. “The idea is to hurt _other people_ , to stop them getting to you, surely?”

Q watched Bond steadily, quirked an eyebrow. “Fair warning,” he said, a smile playing in the corners of his mouth. “Hurting ‘other people’ is all very well and good, but if you ever cheat on me, I will destroy your life in a succinct series of keystrokes, and then yes, probably shoot you for good measure.”

Bond blinked. Gave a slightly mocking salute. “Received and understood,” he said with a faint smirk, wondering vaguely quite what _he’d_ do, if he found Q had cheated.


	267. Chapter 267

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AWeoiajeaowe I love your writing so much! Are you still open for prompts? If so could we please have a very embarrassed Q caving in to James’ request to crossdress in a sexy, skimpy outfit (bonus if it has lace or themed and stuff)? James enjoys himself too much. Bonus if James takes a photo much to Q’s horror to fap to during missions. Extra bonus if Mallory or Tanner accidentally sees the photo. – anon

Q was sulking. He hadn’t actually stopped sulking in almost three days, which really, was something of an achievement even by Q’s standards.

Bond tried to make it up to his lover, mainly through little indication of just how much he had enjoyed the evening in question. Q continued to shoot him plaintive and loathing glances intermittently, as though it stood a hope in hell of changing the cold, hard fact of a genuine picture of Q in a gorgeous, lacy maid’s outfit.

It took a very large amount of alcohol, coercion, and outright manipulation – spanning back _weeks_ – to get Q anywhere near the damn thing. A final shot of vodka later, and Q finally conceded defeat.

Bond would cherish the photographs for the rest of his life. He would probably never get Q within a hundred yards of an outfit like that ever again, after all.

Nevertheless, Q was still harbouring residual hatred for the entire affair, and thus, was sulking. He had never intended to get so drunk, and _certainly_ never intended for Bond to have the pictures, and would have objected far more strenuously were it not for Bond’s palpable joy and arousal. It was done, now. No point worrying.

Sulking, though, was always fun. Bond was _lovely_ when Q sulked.

“Q?”

“How can I help?” Q asked brightly, still glaring at Bond, words and expression juxtaposed.

M sighed slightly, in a tone that made Q stop playing around; he sounded terrifyingly serious, weighty. “There is an image, cached in one of Bond’s work folders, that I believe you would wish to have removed.”

Q’s expression turned from while to sallow in the space of a half-breath. He typed frantically, pulling up Bond’s folders – while Bond watched in faint confusion – and found the afore-mentioned image.

The noise he made was something like a strangled whimper.

“Consider it deleted,” he managed, as Bond crooked an eyebrow. “I’ll kill him. I apologise in advance for the paperwork.”

Q didn’t give M enough time to reply before hanging up, turning Bond with an expression like wrath incarnate. “On your _work computer_?!” he yelled. “It gets _streamed through to MI6_. You fucking _idiot_. That is the _last time_ I do anything for you, James fucking Bond, _do you understand_?!”

“Your legs looked incredible,” Bond said, with a faint smirk, as Q jabbed at the final keys to erase the horrible thing from existence.

A moment or two after that, Q punched Bond, hard, in the nose.

He probably deserved it.


	268. Chapter 268

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s practically blind without his glasses and has been for a while. Bullies would hide them and then beat him up because he couldn’t see a blow coming. Ever since he’s unconsciously expects blows when people are around with he doesn’t have his glasses on. So when Bond sneaks into his apartment and tries to wake him, Q has a less than stellar reaction. – runemarks

Bond liked Q’s apartment. It was very clean. He had everything organised with a type of near-worrying meticulousness, all sharp edges and no obnoxious smells, barring a perpetual scent of tea that emanated from the kitchen.

Q was especially endearing while asleep. He had a habit of tucking his body into an infinitely small ball, head and limbs and torso compressed into a strangely small space for such a large bed. When they were sleeping together, Bond tended to curl his own body around Q’s in return, forming an impromptu exoskeleton, keeping Q safe as best he could.

The mission had been a couple of weeks, and Bond was not expected back for another few days; it had reached a delightful, unexpectedly early conclusion. Thus he ignored M’s orders to go debrief, and went to find his young lover.

What he really did _not_ expect was to place his hand on Q’s head, and be met with a quite impressive punch. Thankfully, his reflexes avoided a broken jaw, but it was a damn close thing.

“Q, _what_?!” Bond yelled at him, stumbling back with a hand over his face. “It’s me. James Bond.”

Q grappled for his glasses, transparently still mostly asleep, curling his body into the farthest corner of the bed and slamming his glasses onto his face with near-desperation.

The moment he saw Bond, tension started to dribble out of his body again. “Fucking hell,” he muttered exhaustedly. “James. You’re early.”

“You punched me.”

“Well noticed,” Q returned drily, still as far from Bond as it was possible to be. “Sorry.”

Bond softened a little, moving onto the bed, extending a hand out towards his young lover. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. Q continued to watch him, blinking hugely, guarded in a horribly obvious way.

He shrugged a little, very unconvincingly. “I don’t deal well with unexpected people when I can’t see,” he said, as tactfully as he was able. “I… when I was younger, I was very short-sighted, and people would take advantage of that.”

It was almost endearing, seeing how Bond’s body grew taut with anger, at assailants in a long-distant past. “They targeted you when you couldn’t see?” he repeated, for clarity; Q twitched an apologetic smile, the type that made Bond’s fists clench. “That’s… I’m sorry, Q.”

Bond tried so hard to remain calm. He tried to avoid his instincts, keep Q calm as best he could by refusing to confess his own fury. “It’s okay,” Q murmured, accepting Bond into the bed next to him. “Just… without glasses, I’m vulnerable. I can’t see to defend myself, I can’t see _anything_. I lash out at anything I can see moving.”

“You punch like a kitten,” Bond pointed out teasingly, tucking Q into his arms carefully, kissing the top of his head.

Q smiled. “Fuck off,” he muttered fondly, and let Bond cradle him back to sleep.


	269. Chapter 269

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need to see “The Java Rap". This is Q branch anthenm I swear. If you feel inclined to write a fic about it, thy shall. – anon

Nobody really knew what to do about Q-branch. They were a weird lot. A collection of vampraic young people: they stalked the building seeking caffeine at all costs, most so vitamin-D deficient that sunlight literally hurt, eyes running lines of code in the half-light of 3AM and the incredible ability to never, ever sleep.

Q was their ringleader. Legend stated that Q hadn’t left the building since he was appointed Q. He was also responsible for the Q-branch traditions.

Like the singing.

“ _In the cubicles representin’ for my JAVA homies… In by nine, out when the deadlines are met, check it…_ ”

“Q, you can’t do that bit, not with your accent,” R complained, looking a little petulant; she had a point. Q, with his ridiculously rounded English accent, sounded a complete idiot trying to miss off ‘ing’ endings on words. The one time he’d affected an accent for a mission, Bond had laughed for pretty much two days, without stopping.

Q looked outright devastated. “But this is our _anthem_ ,” he whined. “I should be able to…”

Bond interjected from the doorway, barely disguising his amusement. “Q, bad plan.”

“Fuck off, Bond,” Q snapped at him, wheeling back towards R. “Oh, _alright_. Fine. You take over, then. I get the ‘syntax tight’ line though, you understand?”

R nodded wearily, replacing Q in standing on the desk. “Are we ready, ladies and gentlemen?” she called, body already moving to some intangible beat.

Bond and Eve exchanged looks, both honestly a little frightened.

“ _We code hard in these cubicles_ …”

“Only _they_ could find the single geekiest rap song in existence, and make it their theme tune,” Eve giggled, watching the entirely of Q-branch try to be rappers at 4AM UK time, a rare quiet moment when they had the freedom to enjoy said rap songs.

Q glanced over sharply. “That’s _anthem_ , not _theme tune_ ,” he yelled at them, before stepping forward, rapping very unconvincingly about how hard he coded at midnight under Ikea lamps, and damn, but Bond was never going to let himself forget this moment.

_“CODE HARD!_ ”

The yell echoed through the surrounding corridors, as their song reached the end.

Bond and Eve lasted precisely four seconds before collapsing with laughter.


	270. Chapter 270

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you’re totally amazing, love your writing and could sit on here hours just reading your material! I have a prompt for you if you’d like to do it! Maybe Bond hopelessly fancies Q but Q is terrified that he has a 00 agent after him… maybe he’s afraid to say no to dating in case he gets assasinated? ect anyway :) just an idea! X - blueskiesthroughthetears

Q’s expression contracted slightly, in a way Bond didn’t understand. “A date?” he asked, looking deeply troubled. “I… yeah, okay. That’s okay.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Sound a little more enthusiastic,” he commented drily; Q just smiled slightly, mockingly.

“It’s all good,” he lied easily, and continued to smile an over-compensatory smile. “What time?”

“Eight,” Bond suggested easily. Q nodded a little, and Bond left before his smile could properly fade.

-

Matters continued in a faintly uncomfortable vein, in a way that Bond didn’t quite understand, or know how to deal with. He didn’t broach the subject for a while, just watched, trying to needle his way into Q’s brain and find out what lingered there, see what it was that was stopping him engaging fully.

Eventually, he had to ask. Q seemed sad, worried; he never managed to relax around Bond, and it was curiously distressing to witness.

“Q, what’s wrong?” Bond asked flatly; Q actually _jumped_ a little, making Bond’s expression contract.

He shrugged slightly. “Nothing,” he lied, hollowly.

Bond’s lip curved slightly. “Q, don’t lie to me please,” he said, a little more forcefully than he intended; Q glanced at him, a little too sharply, and Bond felt another outright sting of confusion. “What in the _hell_ is going on?”

Q blinked at him, shrugged lopsidedly. “Nothing…” he tried to repeat.

Bond moved abruptly forward.

His heart all but stopped beating as Q flinched.

“You’re scared of me,” he said, with awful quiet. “Is it… is it me? Or… There aren’t many options here, Q…”

Q rolled his eyes a little, looking faintly annoyed. “I’ve not been abused, if that’s what you’re grasping at,” he said, with a sigh. “It’s just… you’re a _double-oh_ agent. I don’t really have an option, do I?”

Bond remained very, very still. “You’re here… because you don’t think you have an option?” he repeated slowly, trying to understand, hoping he was incorrect in his various assumptions.

A slightly apologetic shrug again, indicative of Q’s utter awkwardness. “I’m not stupid enough to piss off anybody who could kill me without even trying,” he mumbled, face flushing slightly. “I don’t think you _would_ , but I’m very underwhelming and I know that, so from my perspective you have to look at the odds… and I like you, I really do, but I didn’t…”

“I would never hurt you,” Bond said sharply. “It rather defeats the point of a relationship. What’s more, there tends to be an understand of reciprocity; if you don’t want to be with me, Q…”

“I do,” Q interjected. “I just… I didn’t feel I had much control, either way. That’s the salient point in all this. Whether I wanted you or not…”

Bond sighed slightly, and Q kissed him. “I want you,” he said simply, smiling a little.

“You always have a choice,” Bond told him firmly. “Believe that. I would never harm you, in any context.”

Q smiled, nodding, as Bond’s arms looped around him, firmly but gently holding him in place.


	271. Chapter 271

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So that scene in Casino Royale, when Bond gets tortured with the ball-buster thing? Could you do a fic that explores how Bond can’t do certain positions because of lasting damage? Maybe Q wonders why Bond doesn’t seem to want to do penetrative sex but is really understanding when Bond explains. Thank you! – runemarks

Q was rather accustomed to Bond’s recent habit of avoiding sexual contact with marks, while on active assignments. In fact, M was subtly ensuring he was not placed on missions that would involve sex.

Honestly, Q had assumed that after Vesper, Bond no longer wanted to be whored out for the British Government, and honestly, couldn’t blame him.

The reality was far removed from anything Q could have imagined. Bond avoided sex outright, as best he could, until Q began to feel genuinely worried that Bond didn’t find him attractive.

“No,” Bond said simply, the moment he realised what Q was thinking. “I promise you, that is in no way true.”

Q shrugged a little, worry written in the lines of his body, the slight contraction of his eyes towards the floor. “Why?” he asked quietly, trying to understand.

Bond explained. A very specific, very cruel type of torture; Bond had been left with extreme genital injury, and a consequent inability to sustain an erection.

Q exhaled slowly, tone heavy with understanding. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured quietly, Bond shrugging a little. Apologising could not change anything, would not stop the fact that James Bond – once an infamous sexual being – had been rendered nigh on impotent.

It didn’t make sexual contact painful. It made the whole affair unfulfilling, though; Q was young, hot-blooded, and Bond presented the information with the air of somebody prepared to let go.

The fact of that broke Q’s heart, just a little.

“It doesn’t matter,” Q said, his tone almost surprised; he had never expected something like this to be an issue, was pleasantly surprised by his own response. Bond raised an eyebrow. “Okay, sorry. It _matters_ , but not… not in any terminal way. You’re gorgeous, James, but sex is not the be-all and end-all.”

Q pretended not to notice the way Bond’s expression softened, just a fraction, in unmistakeable relief. “You’re sure?” he asked, the first time Q could recall Bond actually being uncertain about _anything_.

It was easy to lean forward, to kiss him. Sex was a brilliant thing, obviously, but it was such a small aspect in practise. The physical closeness, being pressed to Bond’s body and moulding against him, breathing him in, hearing his voice and the words carried in that voice, the various facets of a creature like James Bond; it was unique. So much so that Q would never be able to conscience leaving him.

“Certain,” Q replied softly, and curled against him, letting Bond’s arm slowly – almost tentatively – close around him.


	272. Chapter 272

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, really really love your work!!! Really huge fan :) Could you please write a fic where 007 continuously bothers Q with his general flirting and interruptions at work, and Q finally snaps and lashes out at him (vocally or physically, whichever) to which Bond suddenly loses control of himself and his desires for Q? :) (preferably from Q’s POV, but I’m not fussy, and your writing never disappoints!) – optimisticstorm

Q growled slightly, trying to stop his hands clenching instinctively into fists, his jaw snapping to a tight line of tension.

“Bond, get _out_ of my branch, before I forcibly eject you,” he snapped. Bond – the obnoxious _bastard_ – merely smirked.

Q-branch had been haunted by the presence of James Bond ceaselessly, for _weeks_. Q was no idiot; he knew precisely what Bond wanted, and had no interest, just yet, in giving it to him. Apart from anything, a lesson needed to be learnt, in that harassment was never a good plan when attempting a seduction.

Bond sidled closer, so close Q could feel his body heat, the puff of his breath on the back of his neck. “Mmn, I’d like to see you make me,” he purred; an atrocious line, one that made Q grimace in simple distaste.

“Alright. That’s it,” he said, feeling himself snap a little. “You’re being an absolute _pain the arse_ , Bond. I have a branch to run, a job that balances the lives of several agents at any one time, and an _infant_ of a double-oh who is refusing to _back off_ , and realise that I am _too busy_ to pander to his every passing infatuation.”

Q had time to respond. He merely made an aggravated, startled sound as Bond pressed against him, his lips warm and soft against Q’s own, smelling of gunpowder and tasting of caramel, the sharp undertones of alcohol, utterly _gorgeous_.

A sharp, livid push; Bond stumbled back, looking very shocked. Q took a moment to catch his breath, blood rushing in all the wrong places, making his soon-to-be livid tirade about Bond’s professionalism not really passable.

He tried anyway.

“Undesirable sexual contact and innuendo are how you greet my anger?!” Q asked incredulously, straightening his shirt, biting his lip slightly in a way that Bond swallow sharply.

Q blinked, Bond refusing to move from his personal space. “If I must,” he purred, recovering nicely from being pushed away from a kiss for precisely the first time in his life.

A small growl. “Go away, Bond,” Q sulked, really not liking the fact that he genuinely and honestly aroused, and that was just _not_ ideal in the grand scheme of things.

Bond took a half-step forward. Q raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say or do anything untoward.

When Bond kissed him again, really, it seemed pointless to keep arguing.


	273. Chapter 273

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a body-switching 00Q with a twist? James & Q somehow switch bodies. Huge emergency situation happens, MI6 says sorry, James you have to go into (insert dangerous situation here) while in Q’s body. Q go run Q-branch & guide James, etc. Both are awkward in their new bodies but deal well. But then mid-mission they somehow switch back. So now Q is in the middle of a dangerous mission & Bond is running him. No one dying at the end please that’s all I ask. – anon

“M. We have a problem,” Bond said sharply, looking surprising fretful; M was honestly not he had ever seen that expression on James Bond. Q, meanwhile, stood terrifyingly straight, hands behind his back, staring straight forward.

M glanced between them, eyebrow raised. “Yes?” he said, addressing Q, who was technically the superior of the two.

Q shrugged, expression betraying that he had absolutely _no_ idea what was going on; again, a very unfamiliar expression. Bond kept talking. “It would seem that Bond and I have swapped bodies,” he said, with a slight sigh. “Implausible, certainly, but factual.”

Impressively, it was not the weirdest thing M had ever heard from the pair. “Any ideas how to switch back?” he asked, a little wearily.

Bond shrugged, biting his lip in Q’s trademarked, anxious manner. M rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed, looking at Q. “Bond, I have an urgent mission. Your trademark skills, thankfully not your musculature; you will need to go, in Q’s form. It actually makes matters simpler – no elaborate disguises, just yourself. Q, you will run from here, in Bond’s form. Warn the staff, if you would, or there will be general panic; this is not the type of mission I would want you on, Q.”

Q nodded curtly, military posture looking frankly peculiar on him. Q murmured an assent from Bond’s lips, turning on himself, doing a relatively obvious double-take at the sight of himself. “Come on, Bond. Let’s get you outfitted.”

“I have a good voice, don’t I?” Bond observed, with a slight smirk. “No wonder the girls like me.”

“The men could go right off you,” Q growled, from Bond’s lips. “Move, Bond. And if you try any ‘experiments’, while in my body…”

M shut the door, but not in time to miss Bond slide a hand over his – Q’s – body, grinning. “I have a few hours before heading out, I could find out everything you like from your perspective…”

-

Bond was in the middle of a firefight, in a body clearly not suited to such things. He was out of breath faster than he had been since last being invalided out of a mission, his hair was getting in his eyes, and the lack of twenty-twenty vision was more of a hindrance than Bond had known possible.

Abruptly – without a second of warning – he was staring at banks of computers, at Q, _his Q_ , ducking behind a desk with an expression of impossible panic. “James, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he gasped, looking at his own gun like he didn’t recognise the damn thing. “What have you _done to me_ , I can’t fucking _breathe_.”

“You need cardio training,” Bond snapped at him. “Head left, I’m going to get you out.”  
Q glanced out, making a strange noise as a bullet whistled past his head. “They’re _shooting at me_.”

“I know,” Bond said, as calmly as he could. “Do as I say, Q. I trust you on these things. You need to trust me, now. You’ll be alright. Go left.”

Q took a breath, glancing where he knew the camera was, nodding very faintly.

Bond took a breath, watching Q scramble to his feet, running frantically to the left, following the directions of the voice in his ear.


	274. Chapter 274

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I’ve told you multiple times, but once more won’t hurt. I LOVE your writing! I was looking through some fan art and came up with an idea. What would happen if Bond found out he needed glasses. Maybe some resistance until Q can convince him of his increased sexiness? Thanks!! – jellybabies2manual

“I feel ancient,” Bond growled, head in his hands, refusing to look around at Q; his lover just snorted, feet up on the coffee table, watching Bond with polite amusement.

One optician’s appointment, and Bond had all but decided his life was over; the test was compulsory for all active agents, who needed excellent vision. The slightest of aberrations would need fixing, insuring against future problems.

Thus, James Bond needed reading glasses. Not uncommon for a man of his age; eventually, all eyes deteriorate, and even Bond was no exception. “I’m glad glasses are synonymous with age,” Q commented drily, smirking despite himself.

Bond twisted to him with a childishly petulant expression. “You _are_ ancient, by your own admission: an old man, trapped in the body of a teenager.”

“I’m _thirty-two_.”

Q was accustomed to the wide grin Bond always shot him when it came to the contentious subject of Q’s age; he playfully batted his partner around the head, shaking his head a little at the stupidity of it all. “I don’t want to wear glasses.”

“And I don’t want to have to work every bank holiday, but…”

“… you _do_ want to work bank holidays. You want to work _all_ days,” Bond pointed out, not wholly inaccurately. Q tried to whack him again, Bond ducking out of the way with a small laugh.

Q settled back, sniffing imperiously. “I want no such thing,” he said primly, softening slightly as Bond continued to stare at him. “Come on, James. We’ll find some good frames. They’re only readers, you won’t be wearing them all the time – and I _like_ glasses.”

Bond blinked. “You…?”

“Maturity is sexy,” Q said placidly, pretending admirably that he had no idea how Bond would respond. “I _like_ knowing you’re a little older… mmn,” he trailed off, eyes shuttering slightly, Bond’s eyebrows near enough in his hairline.

Q gave a startled laugh as Bond all but pounced on him; a low purr, Q kissing him back with deep intensity. “Love you,” Bond growled at him, and Q smiled like the world was suddenly bright.

“Love you too,” he breathed, eyes closing as Bond’s lips closed over his.


	275. Chapter 275

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw mpreg alpha/omega prompt: When an Alpha’s mate gets pregnant they usually follow one of two paths. Some can’t seem to keep their hands off of their mates because they smell so good pregnant and others can be insanely protective and doting and give in to their omega’s every whim. James, because he can’t do anything by halves, somehow manages to do both in excess. – anon

Q – his young Omega – falling pregnant was right up with the absolute best things that had ever happened in Bond’s life.

Bond’s libido was on an unprecedented level, triggered every single time he caught the slightest whiff of his Omega; the pheromones coming off Q’s skin were impossible, beyond anything Bond could conceivably imagine. His mouth literally watered, blood rushing to his groin whenever in direct contact.

To his immense joy, Q seemed just as affected. Bond would walk into Q-branch, and the minions would promptly become _very_ busy, studiously ignoring everything they could or could not hear behind the closed door of Q’s office. Bond would come out looking _intensely_ satisfied, Q breathless and easily coming undone as Bond pressed kisses to the side of his neck.

In tandem with that, was the simple fact that Bond became absolute _putty_.

Q-branch got everything they wanted. Q simply asked Bond, who moved heaven and earth to make it happen for his Omega. Somewhere in the mess of hormones, Bond had become a slave to Q’s every passing whim. He turned up with tea and biscuits and backrubs every twenty minutes – which meant that in practise, if the pair weren’t fucking against Q’s desk, Q was _still_ occupied with Bond.

The minions got cocky. They pushed requests onto Q’s desk with unapologetically manipulative smiles, and waited for Bond to fulfil all requests by proxy.

Bond just stayed as close to Q as he could. He pressed lips and tongue against his pulse points, inhaling his unique scent, growing drunk on it. “God, Q, you’re gorgeous like this,” Bond groaned, kneading out knots from Q’s shoulders, each motion sending a new wave of scent into his nostrils.

Q, quite frankly, revelled in it. Bond was completely pliant, and honestly, it was intoxicating.

When Bond cradled Q’s baby in his arms, Q already knew he would want it again. “We can barely take care of one,” he laughed, and Bond raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll quit MI6,” he said, with a shrug. “Take care of our children, of you. It’s not unheard of.”

“It’s rare,” Q pointed out.

But then, how like Bond, to revel in the rarities.


	276. Chapter 276

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello gorgeous! I love you and your writing! Would you mind doing a 00Q fanfiction based off of the song “So Good at Being in Trouble" by the Unknown Mortal Orchestra? I would really love and enjoy that! Thank you! – anon

Q closed his eyes, head tilted slightly to one side, smiling absentmindedly as he tried to think, nothing quite making sense, and he was so _used_ to very little making sense and it was okay. It was all okay.

Several months, and Bond lingered heavily in Q’s mind, a constant presence that could never be fully shifted. That was manageable. Bond had always been stubborn, after all, resiliently lingering in all the places he shouldn’t, and Q had loved him all the more for it.

Bond was built, designed, encouraged to break rules. M – both M’s – would have gone to their graves denying it, but Bond was never supposed to follow rules. They needed a renegade who believed himself independent, because he would always do the missions and make the decisions nobody else could. Certainly, he would make the decisions nobody wished to sign off on.

He had danced with danger and adored it, and Q loved him more than words.

Q smiled slightly, remembering the _infinite_ numbers of meetings he had with M, with 007, with the Board of Directors, trying to work out what in the hell they would do with James Bond, who quite resolutely refused to do anything they wanted.

Once, Bond had been in a meeting with M and Tanner and Q. M was busy ranting. Bond had spent the entire meeting watching Q. Just watching. Not saying a word. No implication. Just, watching, blue eyes that impossibly textured and deep and perfect colour.

Afterwards, he had done nothing at all. Still silent, unrepentant, having listened to not a single word from any of irate superiors; he watched Q consistently, reached forward, ran the tips of his fingers over the hot skin of his arm.

Then walked away, searing, so impossible.

He was lethal, and Q _knew_ that.

And yet. And _yet_.

There was something magic about being with somebody who could so easily flirt with danger. Bond pulled him to the edge of everything, coaxed him into being the type of person he never thought he could be.

So when Q was hauled into M’s office, yelled at for breaking all manners of regulation, it was difficult to feel anything other than pure warmth. Bond was this.

Without him, MI6 needed somebody to ignore every last protocol, somebody to get into trouble.

Q smiled, dreamed of Bond, and broke every rule.


	277. Chapter 277

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s instinct for lone werewolves to test for potential pack mates by dropping by their homes and seeing if they can stay the night. It is a sign of ultimate trust to be allowed in someone’s home while they sleep. It’s why 007 constantly appears in M’s home. Unfortunately, no one ever told Q this habit of 007’s so when James shows up at his apt. he lets him stay hoping that James’ mood will disperse by morning. Upon waking he finds James very smug about finally gaining a pack mate. – runemarks

Q was very, very tired. Too tired, in fact, to really put up with Bond being Bond, being ridiculous, and invading at exactly the worst time when really, Q just wanted to go back to bed, he really did.

Yawning, he stood back from the door. “You coming in, or what?” he managed, blinking through the blur of sleep, glasses sliding off his nose, hair everywhere. He was also in some of his less flattering pyjamas, but that would fail to occur until the next morning.

_Everything_ would fail to occur until the next morning, actually.

Q tumbled out of bed very, very fast, with a strangled memory that he hoped wasn’t quite real, but he honestly wasn’t certain, that he may or may not have had a very highly-trained secret agent sleeping on his sofa.

“So… you’re on my sofa,” Q managed, blinking a little. “… why?”

Bond was sitting upright, looking placid and perfect and not at _all_ like he had been sleeping on somebody’s sofa. “You’re my pack mate now,” Bond said, looking exceptionally smug.

Q was very clever. Very, very clever.

However.

It was early in the morning, and Q did not really like the implication of werewolves, which were the only breed of people who would use the term ‘pack mate’. And if Bond was a werewolf, there were many separate and distinct issues that were related to that, and Q really didn’t want to think about it too much.

Instead, he blinked. “I need tea,” he mumbled, sloping into his kitchen, putting on the kettle.

He turned to find Bond literally half an inch behind him. “You took that well,” he said, cutting over Q’s shocked yelp. “Most people would be… concerned.”

Q blinked again, far more concerned with his lack of tea at the present moment. “You’re a werewolf?” Q asked flatly.

A bright grin. “My dear Q, of course I am,” he purred, and grabbed Q’s wrist. He leaned in, inhaling along the inner forearm, nose resting in the crook of Q’s elbow. “Problem?”

“Pack mate,” Q repeated, Bond smirking with unequivocal joy. Q rolled his eyes. “Oh, _good_. Fine. _Fine_. Not like I can change that, now, anyway.”

Bond moved closer, kissed the side of Q’s neck. “Mine,” he growled, and Q simply sighed.


	278. Chapter 278

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Harkness goes out on the prowl and meets Bond while he’s on a mission. At first they flirt, but at some point he somehow manages to convince Bond that he should man up and go to the person he wants to be with. Whether it’s intentional or not, I leave up to you~ - virtualoutcast

Jack Harkness made for excellent company on a night out. Bond had been undercover, his target otherwise occupied; Bond had a free evening, in practise.

He fully intended to pick up some random, beautiful creature, and enjoy himself. They were everywhere, although admittedly not the calibre Bond was used to; rather, a relatively motley collection of catatonically drunk Welshmen and woman, out for drinks on a Saturday night.

Not precisely ideal, but manageable nonetheless.

Certainly, the man buying him drinks, trenchcoat around his ankles and hundred-watt smile firmly intact. An American, bright blue eyes, sharp but not extraordinary; old-fashioned type of man, suspenders, wool, Webley.

The evening came to a somewhat inevitable halt. Bond was interested, certainly. He had always been interested, and yet. And _yet_.

There was the simple and inevitable and absurd fact of Jack Harkness being a man, and James Bond did not fuck men. He was a womaniser, emphasis on the feminine aspect. If he were to ‘explore other options’, as it were, well.

Green eyes swam for the briefest of moments.

“You’re holding back on me,” Jack grinned, finishing his glass of water; he was entirely sober, had been evening. “So go on, what’s keeping you?” he teased.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Not quite my domain, shall we say,” Bond managed, as politely as possible.

“Yeah, of course,” Jack laughed, entirely mocking. “All that flirting, those come-ons, and it’s ‘not your domain’? Not buyin’ it. So who is he?”

A moment of sheer, absolute disbelief. “I…”

Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing Bond up and down, smile almost coy, flirting mostly gone but playfulness intact. “It’s not important,” Jack told him soberly. “If you like the guy, there’s no harm. Live a little, Bond, James Bond. You might like it.”

-

Q groaned. Two in the fucking morning. Two in the _fucking_ morning. Only Bond, only James Bond, would call at this ridiculous ungodly hour when there were _no_ alerts out anywhere, or he would know about it, which meant Bond was giving him a _personal call_ at two in the fucking goddamn morning.

“Drinks, Q?”

A slight smile. “It’s two in the morning.”

“I noticed. Drinks?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I won’t ask again.”

“Yes, obviously. Now piss off, would you? I’m in the office in four hours,” Q yawned, torn between extreme annoyance, and genuine joy. He had never thought Bond would finally, _finally_ admit to it, accept sexuality as something not quite so binary and just… be.

Q was still grinning as he hung up the phone.

-

“Told you,” Jack grinned, as they approached the centre of the Cardiff Plass, a water tower spilling around them.

Bond turned, a pithy reply on the tip of his tongue.

Jack Harkness had vanished.


	279. Chapter 279

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! How about a story where Q has a tell (maybe a twitch of an ear, one eyebrow goes up higher than the other involuntarily, unusual grin, reddening of his nose or a tapping foot) whenever he lies, which gives away his feelings to Bond as they engage in their usual snarky banter (while returning used equipment?) at Q branch. – anon

It was a subtle little thing. Bond very nearly failed to notice entirely, which was quite impressive, given his credentials.

Q played with his hair. Innocuous – or so Bond had initially believed. He was studying Q, however, had been studying the younger man ceaselessly, and there were patterns. The entirely unnecessary straightening of a fringe or strand or clump happened in tandem with the faintest of rose flushes on the back of neck.

Bond knew precisely what was going on. He merely needed to confirm the theory.

Nobody else managed to inspire that response, unless they were giving him a particularly glowing compliment. Q basked in attention, certainly, but there was more than that: he needed the compliments to be from somebody he liked, respected.

Q-branch hated the double-oh agents. They were reckless, irresponsible. Everybody knew that. The double-ohs knew that. They simply didn’t care enough to alter their behaviour. So Q hated every single double-oh agent, and that was just how matters worked.

And yet, with Bond, there was something. It took a while, but there, there it was: that tell. The little indication that there was _something_ more to Q’s affections than met the eye; Bond pounced on that as something he could use. He was set apart from the other agents, clearly. For whatever reason, Q valued his opinion.

More than that, the mannerisms became more pronounced. “Bond, this is a pathetic excuse for a returned Walther,” he said irately, fingers playing ceaselessly in his hair, never still. The green of his eyes was slightly clouded over, more concerned than it needed to be.

Bond moved a touch closer; Q twisted away to protect his expression from giving him away, displaying the fuchsia stain across the back of his neck, a soft flush.

Gentle hands, kneading away tension, tracing over the radioactive heat from Q’s neck. “You don’t have to,” Q mumbled, purring into Bond’s touch.

Lips, teeth, tongue, fingers, everywhere.

“I know,” Bond murmured back, catching Q’s hand as it flew to his hair, using it to twist his startled Quartermaster around, and catch him in a kiss.


	280. Chapter 280

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your fills are PURE LOVE. & I have one! Re-saw the clip where Bond first picks up gun from Q and it flashes green (he smiles something amazing). So, could u do a semi-tragic fill for me where 00Q were in a relationship/starting one? Q is missing/presumed KIA or other; Bond kept gun, feels connected to Q whenever it lights, getting it repeatedly fixed because its Q to him. Then Q returns (damaged) when gun beyond repair: joint fluff! <3 for gun/Q similar-damage @ same times by chance~ShadyQuiet

It was something of a record: Bond had managed to keep a single piece of equipment almost wholly intact for nearly eight months. Every single mission, he came back with sod-all else, but managed to keep his gun together.

“Can you fix this?” he asked, indicating a long scratch along the barrel, a deep score; R – now Q, but Bond refused to call her that – glanced over Bond with a sort of sadness, and nodded.

_Q screamed, trying to hold himself together, blood leaking from the inches-long gash over his ribs, staining everything red. Somebody came closer, drugged him, black covering the red._

_When he woke up, the gash had been stitched. Tender, not aesthetically perfect, but he was alive. He was intact._

A few weeks later, and Bond returned with a piece of the trigger dislodged, cradled in Bond’s palm. “Fix it?” Bond pleaded, handing the pieces to R again; her expression teasingly fond as she accepted the loose trigger.

R lined it up, slotted the trigger back in place; she pulled out a micro-screwdriver, quickly tightening the thing back into place. “There you are,” she said lightly, handing it back.

Bond nodded once, sharply, and retreated.

_His arm dangled loosely, free of its socket, fingers nerveless; he hiccupped breaths, cried without expression._

_Strong hands grasped his arm, curving the elbow, preparing; Q took a low breath, clenched his jaw, closed his eyes. An abrupt motion, the arm clicking back home with a nauseating sound, somebody wrapping bandages over and around him._

The gun was practically no longer whole. Bond had lost it temporarily in a lake, retrieved it, the magazine was barely fitting, the damn thing was barely firing any longer.

He cast it onto R’s desk, almost shaking. It was Q, it was the only thing he had left, and he _needed it_. He had to have it back, he had to have it, and R looked at him with something like pity. “007, I’m not certain this is retrievable.”

_Q was in pieces, so many pieces, splayed limbs and fingers and joints and angles, all wrong, everything wrong, and Q could no longer speak or move, thinking was hard, breathing was hard, nothing was working properly any more. He was useless. Broken._

Bond’s expression closed in on itself, eyes all but shut. “Is there nothing?” he asked again, very quiet.

R held bits of it, gently reforming it, seeing whether she could make it so much as resemble a gun again. Bit by bit, tiny increments, it began to look a little more whole again.

Bond’s personal mobile rang.

_“James,” Q managed, when he was capable of speech again, once he had ascertained that it was MI6 who had picked him up and not somebody worse. “Please. James.”_

Medical was clean and bright and very sterile, and Q looked like a broken doll on the bed, so many pieces. “I’m here,” Bond soothed, stroking over the back of Q’s hand, gently, so gently. “I’ve got you.”

_Q heard that voice, that **voice** , and smiled._


	281. Chapter 281

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve seen you write crossovers with Dr.Who - so what about another spin, Q is The Master, living dual life? Bond’s supposed to find him and extract him as The Masteupon learning his secret becomes unwilling to. Interactions between them are up to you and so is the ending, no deathfic though please. I’m in for the characterization ;) Tyvm and have a nice day. – anon

Bond’s gun was out, every sense on high alert. The computer on the desk blinked, lines of speech, sharp fonts and edges and lines, words.

_I know why you are here_.

“Why?” Bond asked, almost entirely certain that he was being listened to, somewhere. The Master was intelligent, far _too_ intelligent, to ignore one of the few who had been able to track him down.

_I am the Master. You know what I am capable of. You wish to terminate me. I am afraid that will not be possible_.

A raised eyebrow. “If I kill you before regeneration, I don’t see that it will be impossible. Killing me would be ambitious; I make a habit of resurrection, more so even than you.” Bond told the computer, wondering where in the hell Q was. The voice in his ear had been notably silent through this mission, had failed to come up with the leads, had altogether been less than ideal.

Altogether, Bond could not have claimed to be wholly surprised, when a soft voice told him: “ _I know you do_.”

Bond closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. “Q?”

“I prefer to be known as the Master,” Q purred in response, eyes bright, almost sparkling, stepping out of the shadows at the back of the room.

For the shortest of moments, Bond could have sworn he saw a fob watch, antiquated, silver-plated, engraved in a multitude of swirls and circles, eloquence. “You’re not my Q,” Bond stated flatly.

“I am the Master,” Q corrected, a very slight smile fixed in place. “You always knew that a little, didn’t you? The duality of it, you never quite knew, and here it is. Here it always was. The beat at the back of my head, that noise, those _dreams_. It is me. It _was_ me. I am the Q you love and the Time Lord you are here to kill. So kill me, James, if you can.”

A sidestep from reality. A shift in perspective. Q had mutated. Almost intact, and yet not so; something underpinned everything, a throbbing immediacy, hot and constant and cruel and active.

Bond lowered the gun, and Q smiled. “Thank you, James,” he murmured, all Q, just for a very brief moment.

“What now?” Bond asked, voice sharp, a gunshot in the silence.

Q shrugged slightly, his smile spreading. “I haven’t the faintest,” he admitted brightly, and outright grinned.


	282. Chapter 282

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you write a fic where Q’s assistant is his girlfriend, but Bond has a crush on her? Sometimes the girl gets sent on field missions with Bond bc Q doesn’t want to go. the girl’s name can be Brooke. thanks so much! - anon

Bond turned his head, glancing over the young woman who had settled next to him in the MI6-driven car, and slid him a case: encoded PPK again, standard radio. “Good afternoon, Bond,” she said lightly.

“It’s a pleasure,” Bond purred, in the tone he reserved for those who were _truly_ gorgeous. “And what brings you out of the Q-branch crypt? I thought your lot never saw sunlight.”

The woman looked him up and down, smirking. “It’s England, in summertime; ‘sunlight’ is optimistic at best,” she said lightly. “Given that we’re going to Norway, I believe it is safe to assume that I will not be subjected to overlarge quantities of UV. Also, for the sake of your health, do not try to flirt.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “And why would that be?” he asked, leaning in closer, ignoring the way her lips curved in the corners in an undeniable smirk.

“Because, 007, if you attempt to flirt with my girlfriend, I’ll cut off your testicles, remove your organs, and dangle your desiccated corpse from a flagpole. Do I make myself entirely clear?” Q told him in his earpiece, tone spectacularly mild, leaving Bond with absolutely no doubt that he would do as he promised.

Bond just grinned, shaking his head; he’d entirely forgotten he was still wearing an earpiece. “Very detailed, Q. Anybody would think you’re excited about having access to my testicles.”

“You are incorrigible,” Q remarked disdainfully. “Brooke, you have clearance to use the prototype shockers if you like.”

“Shockers?” Bond asked curiously.

Brooke just grinned at him, all madness, little mirth. “They give mild, very painful electric shocks,” she told him. “One of my innovations, actually. Now, I will be on this mission with you.”

“Why?” Bond returned flatly.

Brooke opened her mouth to reply, beaten to it by Q. “I don’t fly, 007. She does. I need R on site, and she’s the most competent Q-branch technician with any level of field training.”

“Combat?”

“Don’t,” she warned, sensing a number of sexual twists Bond could pour into the conversation, rather hoping he would desist.

Bond merely settled back, and smirked for the next several hours.


	283. Chapter 283

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about a fic where Q is ill or injured and is ordered to be in bed rest but he escapes every time when no one is looking. Then Bond decides he will cuff Q to bed if he has to :P – anon

Q had contracted a very nasty bout of flu, to the extent of being hospitalised. After a week barely conscious, delirious, unable to eat and scaring the hell out of Bond, he was finally discharged, as long as he remained on bed rest for at least a week.

Given that he had already managed to sneak in a laptop to the hospital and had been working, near enough non-stop, Bond realised quickly it was unlikely to happen. Q would move heaven and earth to get back to his branch.

Bond simply wouldn’t let him. He was a trained secret agent, for god’s sake, his computer-bound, skinny boyfriend could not be that much of a problem.

It transpires that optimism and stupidity often go hand in hand.

Q was _fast_. Bond could deal with him when he caught him, but actual _act_ of catching him was nigh on impossible at points.  Bond only had to blink, and Q was already up and out, surprisingly dextrous for a man whose muscles had been quietly atrophying for a week.

Usually, Bond could catch him before he hit the tube station. On the single occasion when Q beat even that – spectacular showmanship with an Oyster card helping in that endeavour – Bond cornered him outside Q’s favourite back entrance to the MI6 building.

Q cursed in four different languages, unable to protest to Bond hauling him home. Annoyingly, he also passed out in the cab from sheer exhaustion, making Bond shake his head and mutter _told you so_ intermittently.

When Q woke up, he lay very still, taking stock of his surroundings. “You’re beginning to get insulting,” Bond commented drily; Q opened one eye, growling at the sight of Bond.

“I am _fine_ ,” he rasped, sounding anything but. Bond shook his head, rolling his eyes at Q’s stupidity as the young man twisted over, trying to reach for his glasses.

His glasses were gone. More importantly, his wrist was handcuffed to the side of the bed.

“If you will insist on being difficult, I have to take action,” Bond told him, unrepentant. “I’ll untie you if you behave for the next few hours, but you don’t get your glasses back until tomorrow. You should be resting.”

“ _Give me my glasses_ ,” Q shrieking, tugging at his wrist, exhausted and a tiny bit feral.

Bond just looked at him, shook his head. “No,” he replied calmly, and turned his attention to a book he was reading about something or other that Q couldn’t bloody well see because _he had no glasses_.

“This is cruel and unusual.”

“As is babysitting a full-grown man who won’t follow medical advice,” Bond replied sweetly, not looking up. “Quiet now, Q. Drink some water, get some sleep.”

Q could actually swear in a surprisingly large numbers of ways and languages, Bond mused to himself, flicking over the page and waiting for Q to calm himself down.


	284. Chapter 284

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) I just had one idea about one prompt maybe Q & James are very cold one night because of the weather and the heating system doesn’t work. And for the body heat, they had to be naked, they are not in relationship yet, but with this thing they will be in relationship because they will have sex for the heat and everything :) – tigrasevaddict

Q was shivering violently, in a way that more than amply illustrated that his body was not designed to withstand Arctic temperatures. Russia was pretty horrendous in the winter, Q had had to survive a bloody flight to get there, and was now literally freezing in his sleeping and trying desperately not to show it.

Bond, on the other hand, was doing perfectly fine. Cold, certainly, but not dangerously so. He shuffled closer to his Quartermaster, felt his skin, examined him all over. “Q. Cold survival techniques.”

Despite shivering hard enough to make his teeth chatter, Q still managed a rather ferocious glare. “I’m fine,” he lied, very unconvincingly.

“You’ll be dead by morning if we don’t get you warm,” Bond returned. “It’s only going to get colder. We’re sheltered from the wind, but air temperature continues to drop, and you’re not coping well.”

Q looked horrendously vulnerable for a moment. “So… what, sharing a sleeping bag?”

Bond actually felt a twinge of guilt for a brief moment. This was so far from being Q’s area of expertise, and it showed; he was used to signing off at this stage in the mission, trusting the agent to live through the night, never needing to see or concern himself with the basic facts of simple survival when no guns were being fired or targets being tracked. The less glamorous side to espionage.

“Your clothes are slightly damp from the snow, I didn’t realise before,” Bond murmured apologetically. “It’s best to strip off, let the clothes dry out for a night. Share body temperature. I’d try other methods, but honestly, we don’t have enough resources to spare. I know it’s not ideal.”

Q was genuinely past the point of caring. He nodded slightly, shifting around in his sleeping bag, tugging off clothes and chucking them out; Q’s shivering intensified for a horrible moment while Bond did the same, darting out of his bag for a brief and exceptionally unpleasant moment before sliding into the sleeping bag alongside Q.

The younger man keened slightly at Bond’s temperature, Bond himself hissing as Q’s icy body moulded against him. Bond tugged the bag around tighter, unzipping his own to cast it on top as another layer, the pair squeezed tightly into the bag. If Q hadn’t been so skinny, it would have been a very uncomfortable fit.

As it was, Bond was able to cocoon Q in his arms, trying to cover every inch of the smaller man’s skin with own, make the heat permeate.

Bit by bit, the shivering reduced. Bond had begun kissing the top of Q’s head comfortingly, no sexual connotations intended, merely reverting to his most practised methods of comfort.

He was consequently rather surprised when Q kissed him back.


	285. Chapter 285

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue!Bond au? Q never knew of Bond’s alternative ventures before he dropped off grid and he’s devastated by Bond’s betrayal. Regardless, because of his relationship with Bond he’s demoted and has little access to more than a typewriter. Somehow, gift’s keep making it past security and Q is severely conflicted. At some point Bond learns of an imminent attack on London and is willing to exchange all the info for Q. Naturally, he gets his way. I imagine Bond as a bit twisted in this one.

Q sat in the farthest reaches of MI6, with the skeleton of a SIG in his hands, blinking languidly. Boredom was making his head ache. He was worth so much more than this; relegated to a mere shadow of the Quartermaster he once was, entirely due to the actions of the man he thought he had loved.

Bond had been his everything, and then he had vanished. For a short, lovely time, Q had been important.

Of course, it had been a ploy. Getting the Quartermaster hooked into a relationship, thus ensuring that Bond leaving MI6 would destroy not only M, the active agents, but Q-branch; they would lose everything. Q had been a pawn.

Bond had no reason to contact him, no cause to ever find or speak to Q again.

Yet every once in a while, Q would settle in front of the cheap Ikea worktable they kept in the back rooms, and find a parcel. Cleared by security, of course, and sent anonymously every time. Q alone knew it was Bond. A tie in his favourite colour, a glasses case to replace the one he accidently broke – (that parcel turned up within two days) – all manner of trinkets that Q would like.

When the call came, Q was nevertheless shocked.

Q was hauled into one of the MI6 conference rooms, confused and tired and lonely. His brain had been atrophying, boredom making his head spin; MI6 had all but ostracised him, and until they could confirm his status, he had barely been out of the bloody building.

“Bond?!” Q managed, looking at the screens. “What…”

“Excellent,” Bond said smoothly. “In which case: I will give you all the information you require, in exchange for Q.”

“What?! You can’t. I’m technically not even Q any more, and he… you _left_ , Bond, and you took me down with you…”

Bond smiled at him, the blue in his eyes becoming scarily bright, very sharp, very immediate. “Hush,” he said, with startling force. “M?”

M was at the opposite end of the room, mouth pressed into a thin line. He did not even deign to look at the man who had once been their Quartermaster, a damn good Quartermaster at that. “Alright,” he conceded, looking very weary indeed. “You get him, and we get our information.”

“Q, our usual place,” Bond said calmly, smiling very slightly, very thinly; Q felt a surge of unease through his spine that refused to leave. “Thank you, gentlemen. That was remarkably civil.”

The screen turned black.

M glanced over Q, who remained looking utterly, entirely shellshocked. “I’m sorry,” M told him. “You were the only thing that would get him to submit. Well done.”

Q just shook his head, confused, _so_ confused. “I didn’t…”

“Your security status will be revoked in ten minutes. I strongly suggest you get out of the building. Good luck,” M told him, and strode out the door.

Q breathed out slowly, a long hollow of air, and started to move.

After all. Bond was waiting.


	286. Chapter 286

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I saw a gif set of all the James Bonds, and it said James Bond = Time lord. And then I remembered your 00Q with Q as a time lord. So this time, James as time lord, and Q as his companion? You can decide if this is the first time they meet, first time Q realizes there’s something off about Bond, or really anything. Also, I realize that I’ve probably prompted you two other times, so don’t feel that you need to rush this one.

Q glanced inside, and scrambled backwards as fast as he could manage. “Fuck,” he said shortly, succinctly, still watching the damned box like it was about to… well, take off, really.

Bond couldn’t help but smile. “Good reaction,” he noted with a little chuckle. “Do you like it?”

Q darted forward again, taking a tentative step inside, whistling out a long exhale as he glanced around the impossibility of the box he was standing in. “How is that possible?” he murmured, blinking a little.

The warmth behind him made Q shiver a little, a hand on the small of his back keeping him in place, gesturing around the space. “A secondary dimension, captured within the parameters of the ‘box’, as you elegantly put it,” Bond commented wryly. “She’s the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space.”

It was impossible not to grin. Everything about it was impossible. Beautiful and brilliant and mad and impossible.

Quite like Bond himself, actually.

“You want me to go away with you, in this thing that you claim can travel through time and space, and I…”

“Will you?” Bond interrupted, blue eyes steady and merciless.

For a moment, Q couldn’t breathe.

He nodded, very faintly. “Of course,” he managed, with a slight snort. “Christ, James. Yes. If you’ll have me.”

It came as no surprise – but was wonderful, nonetheless – when Bond pressed his lips close to Q’s ear, enough to feel the tickle of breath, intoxicating and immediate. “Let me show you the stars,” he asked, in a low rumble, and Q could have moaned.

“Yes,” Q agreed again, almost desperately. “ _Yes_.”


	287. Chapter 287

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you’re probably busy but I just had to prompt this. Bond is on assignment, trying to retrieve a data chip that has somehow found its way into the general public. It should be a simple factor of finding it and bringing it back, an abandoned baby who seems to have somehow swallowed it has complicated matters. Cue Bond being both unsure and protective of the little tyke. Bonus points if the baby simply refuses to be held by anyone else but Bond and a cyber-cookie for a little 00Q as well. XD – englishblomkvist

“Q. We have a major problem.”

Q glanced over the screens; it was a fairly busy area, not much that seemed problematic. “Dare I ask?” he commented drily, zeroing in on Bond, cradling – of all implausible things – a very young child. “Bond. Why in the hell are you clutching a child?”

“ _It_ is clutching _me_ ,” Bond retorted, more than a touch defensively; Q snorted as he demonstrated, trying to detach the child from his front and failing catastrophically. “Q, this thing has adhered himself to me, and has swallowed our damn data chip. No parents in site. I think he’s been abandoned.”

Q could put up with a fair amount, on a day-to-day basis; the double-oh agents tended to force him into unfortunate situations, which invariably wound up with massive and unforeseen complications that could take days of unravelling.

But a child, swallowing massively important documentation, really constituted Q’s point of ‘too far’.

“How the _fuck_ did that happen?” he exploded. “Bond, this is absurd. We cannot take a child into MI6 custody, but it would seem that we need to wait for the data chip to re-emerge, as it were. Congratulations, 007, you’re on babysitting and nappy-checking duty.”

Bond blinked. “Nappy-checking?” he repeated slowly, dangerously. “Q, I think you misunderstand.”

“I misunderstand nothing at all – I need that chip, and you allowed a child to swallow it. Ergo, you will be monitoring its digestion until it emerges,” Q explained, as deftly as he was able to. “I am aware that this is not ideal.”

It was actually quite difficult to not actively, openly growl. “I don’t care about ‘ideal’, I care about sifting through a child’s… excrement,” Bond said, with open distaste. “Can’t Medical…?”

“No. This is your penance. Be good,” Q told him curtly, with only a touch of malice.

Alright, maybe more than just a _touch_ of malice, Q conceded, as Bond glanced over the young child with absolute distaste and mild horror, and Q swallowed a snort of laughter.


	288. Chapter 288

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I love your writing :3 I love angsty!Q so maybe… They agreed on ‘no-relationship-sex-only’ thing and Q is fine with this. Except he’s not. But how could he expect more from double oh agent? It’s just sometimes he finds himself thinking that maybe they’d have something more if he’d been better in sack or prettier or more fun. He’d never admit that he spends nights thinking how’d their relationship look like. Bond somehow finds out and is a little bit of a jerk bout that. End’s up to you :) – anon

Q knew his smile was a little too wide to seem wholly genuine, but made a valiant effort nonetheless because _damn it_ , he didn’t want Bond to see if he could avoid it.

They had sex. That was their arrangement. Intermittently, Bond showed up with a desperate desire for sex and contact and physical intimacy, and Q supplied it, and that was alright. Q was good at it, and liked the time with Bond.

More so than he wanted to admit, but that was hardly the point.

Bond watched him with a curious expression, eyebrow raised, and Q was close to flinching back from it. He had a strange moment of wondering if every thought was currently readable, and tried to realign his expression accordingly.

“What now?” Bond asked sharply, letting Q collapse against the pillows bonelessly, sighing a little. “You’ve been weird. Repeatedly.”

Q shrugged, very slightly, trying to underplay everything because it was liable to be embarrassing anyway. “You just want sex, yes?” he asked again, quietly, wincing at the blackness that suddenly crossed into Bond’s expression.

“We’ve been through this, I thought?” he asked, with bouncing, unkind sharpness. “Fucking hell, Q. Yes. Just sex. I have no bloody interest in a relationship. If that’s not alright…”

“It’s fine,” Q interjected quickly, too quickly, cursing himself for a fool. Bond was already getting up, and Q’s jaw set as the man shook his head to himself, not even looking at the man in the bed. “Fuck. James…”

Bond still refused to look at him. “If you want anything more than sex, this can’t work – and clearly, you do,” he told Q coldly, looking unreasonably angry, for reasons Q couldn’t discern. “This stops, Q. You know I will not be in a relationship…”

“Forgive me for liking you,” Q retorted, with a lightening flash of anger. “Fuck, James. Be flattered, can’t you? I actually want you for something more than sex. Stop being a prick, it doesn’t suit you.”

Q honestly didn’t know what in the hell to expect, in Bond’s response.

He certainly hadn’t expected Bond to abruptly lean forward, and kiss him.


	289. Chapter 289

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I just saw the movie “The girl with the dragon tatoo" and GOD, Lisbeth is a really amazing hacker!!!. So I was thinking that maybe she and Q are really close friends (Maybe since high school or something) and together they make a research about Bond. (Q has just started living together with Bond) Thanks for taking the prompt!!! love u :D – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Lex.

_Q: Buzz Buzz?_

_Wasp: …_

_Wasp: Hilarious._

_Q: You’ve missed me._

_Wasp: Without you on the scene I’ve absorbed your clients. Making a killing._

_Q: Good to know they are in good hands._

_Wasp: The best._

_Wasp: Social call?_

_Q: Mostly, got a mark for you._

_Wasp: For me? Illegal then._

_Q: Too close to home._

_Wasp: The great Q needing help? Thought you made it big._

_Q: Big enough. Small enough to know my limits. Can wire in your fee, if you’re interested._

_Wasp: Name?_

_Q: Bond. James Bond._

“What’s up?” 006 asked, as Bond smacked a hand against his laptop.

Bond was close to throwing the damn thing out of the window. “Bloody thing keeps freezing, my files are everywhere.”

“Take it into Q-branch? Let the techies fix it?”

_Q: Nice work_

_Q: Got anything?_

_Wasp: Boyfriend or stalker?_

_Q: Why?_

_Wasp: Former appealing, latter you’re fucked._

_Q: I have good taste._

_Wasp: Checking his med history, but otherwise fine. If you like that sort of thing._

_Wasp: Doesn’t Big Brother run these sort of checks?_

_Q: Don’t want the thoughtpolice involved._

Bond turned on his heel, fixing his eyes on the woman down the corridor. “Oh 007, your latest medical has come back…”

“I didn’t order a medical.”

“Well… erm, you’re clean anyway!”

“Thanks…”

_Wasp: He’s clean._

_Q: Reassuring. Anything else coming up I should know about? Former GFs out to get me?_

_Wasp: He is shit at solitaire and passable at minesweeper._

_Q: …_

_Q: Anything of importance._

_Wasp: He writes poetry, it’s surprisingly good._

_Q: Lying._

_Wasp: Naturally. He has an interesting taste in pornography._

_Q: Oh?_

_Wasp: I’ll link you through._

_Q:…_

_Q: Well, shit._

_Q: Need to go. Shopping to do._

_Wasp: What? Q **what**?_

“What did I do to deserve this?” Bond asked, walking into his living room to find his boyfriend nude, bar a collar and handcuffs. “And how can I do it again?”

Q smirked. “Let’s just say, I’ve been doing a bit of research.”


	290. Chapter 290

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your prompts! Sosososososo much! Now that I got that out of the way, I’ll continue! I’ve been watching Tangled and I couldn’t help but thinking of Q and James in the part when Flynn gets into the tower and Rapunzel keeps knocking him out! Could you help my dreams come true?! :) – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Lex.

Bond dived through the window, laptop case in hand. Panting, he slammed it shut, hearing the satisfying click as it locked. Reaching up for his earpiece, he connected back to MI6.

“I’ve got the drive, appear to be alo…”

_WHACK_.

Q froze, frying pan in hand. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, the shock gluing him in place. Bond fell forward onto the floor, where R padded around him, licking at his face. Q swallowed, staring at the man that had just appeared. He knelt down, peering at at the short blond hair and slightly weatherworn face.

“Ahh..” Bond mouthed, starting to blink open his eyes.

_WHACK._

“Crap,” Q mouthed, dragging Bond away from the window. Wardrobe, _wardrobe._ He tried in vain to lift the man, hauling him over his shoulder, only to be over balanced by sheer power of bicep. After four more attempts, he gave up, hiding the man behind a curtain before Jim could get back.

He paused, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, hair wild and frying pan still clutched.

“Ha!” he laughed, R looking up at him patronisingly. “Still think I can’t handle myself in the real world, Jim? Well say that to my frying… ow!” he moaned, accidentally swinging the pan against his own skull. “Delete that.”

Q looked down to his cat, who had begun circling her master’s legs. “What the fuck do we do now?”

-

For the second time that day Bond found himself awaking with a pounding headache. Sight returned slowly as he flexed unresponsive muscles. _Tied_ muscles. Great.

“Don’t move!” a young, male voice, instructed. Bond looked round, sourcing said voice. A man – well, little more than a boy – stood opposite him, a large frying pan clutched in his hand. A small cat had wound itself around his legs, and oil was dripping from the cooking utensil onto the floor.

Bond raised an eyebrow; as captors went, this one had to win most pathetic. He was stood mainly in the shadows, the room’s primary light source being an impressive collection of computer screens.

“What?”

“Struggling is pointless,” the man informed him, backing away and tripping over one of a number of tangled computer wires that littered the floor of the flat. He was up again like a shot. “I know why you’re here, and I’m not afraid of you.”

“What?” Bond asked again, genuinely confused by the entire situation. The man stepped forward, frying pan raised. Bond felt his jaw drop, metaphorically of course.

The boy was beautiful, tall and pale, dark curly hair framing his face. It was almost ethereal, and in the low light Bond fond himself struck dumb.

“Who are you? And how did you find me?” Q asked, brandishing the frying pan in front of him as Bond collected himself.

“Name’s Bond. James Bond.” He told the creature, with a customary smirk, “And what might I call you?” he asked, charm offensive on full now.

“I’m not bloody telling you who I am!” Q told him firmly, cat mewling in agreement.

“Q?”

“How did you know that?” Q asked, swinging the frying pan upwards again.

“Well, it’s on most of your crockery,” Bond pointed out, nodding to the still drying mugs that littered Q’s flat.

“Still! Alright, _Bond_. Who else knows my location?”

Frustration outweighed desire in that moment. “Look, kid…”

“Q.”

“I don’t know who you are, or where I am. I landed here by accident. I was working and I… oh shit,” he swore, eyes widening as he looked wildly about the flat. “Where is my laptop bag?”

“I’ve hidden it!” Q told him, smirking victoriously. “Somewhere you will never find it.”

Bond looked for a few moments. The flat was quite bare other than the computers and the cups. He narrowed his eyes.

“It’s in that laundry basket. Isn’t it.” he stated flatly.

Q looked to the basket, and back to Bond.

_WHACK._


	291. Chapter 291

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I love your fics! Um, how about one where in Q’s office he has an ensuite room that’s small, but big enough for a double bed. It’s where Q crashes for much needed power naps during long missions. One day 007 goes to find his Quartermaster only to find him fast asleep, cue sleepy cuddles? – anon

R just gestured towards Q’s office, much to Bond’s surprise; there didn’t appear to be anybody there, just a mass of empty space. “He’ll kill you, if you wake him up,” R advised, smirking a little. “You have been warned, 007.”

Bond nodded, admittedly a little confused. He had a glance through the office, established it was empty, spotted the side room; the door was closed tightly, and Bond opened it as quietly as he could, ready to find his Quartermaster and lover after almost a week with near enough no contact.

The room was minute, and essentially just a bed. Q’s clothing, with several spare changes, hung along the right-hand wall. The rest of the floor space was dominated by a bed, with Q tightly knotted in the very centre of it, entirely asleep.

It was impossible to not smile. Q was always endearing while asleep, his face taking on a childlike innocence that Bond adored.

Bond settled on the edge of the bed, reaching out across the covers to find the lump of Q’s form; he made contact, and Q jumped half out of his skin. “Shh, just me,” Bond soothed; the tension drained instantly, and Q smiled foggily, reaching out for Bond.

It was irresistible. Bond shuffled forward, under the covers, scooping up Q and pulling him closer in. “Missed you,” he murmured in Q’s ear, and Q smiled with breathtaking lightness.

“Missed you too,” he agreed. “Mission’s been a nightmare, m’sorry…”

Bond hushed him with a very gentle kiss, Q sprawling over Bond’s body, and beginning what Bond knew as the ‘ivy phase’; he started knotting into Bond’s form, limbs attaching them together entirely. “When do you think it’ll be done?”

“Few days?” Q replied, yawning, burrowing further into Bond’s arms. “M’tired…”

Bond smiled, kissed his forehead. “Sleep,” he advised firmly, keeping the duvet tucked around them both. “I’ve got you.”

Q still smiled, sucked a quick kiss into the side of Bond’s neck. “I’ll make it up to you later,” he promised, eyes shut, limbs incrementally losing tension again as he tilted towards sleep.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bond laughed, and buried another kiss in Q’s curls, protecting him from the world for a few short hours – and, if nothing else, simply letting the younger man finally get some sleep.


	292. Chapter 292

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i attended a wedding yesterday night, and it was really adorable and awesome. i was wondering if you could write about bond and q attending someone’s wedding (it could be moneypenny, but you can take your pick). bonus if you can add in a scene of them on the dance floor and probably tipsy!q dancing with bond *gives you both MASSIVE hugs because you guys are awesome <3* thank you so much! – anon

Eve and 006 both looked embarrassingly, ridiculously happy. After months of dating, Alec Trevelyan – Bond’s closest friend of the double-oh agents – had finally asked Eve Moneypenny to marry him.

Bond was the best man, and thus was dressed sublimely, in a suit that made Q look at him with utter want.

Q was a little bit drunk. Only a little bit, but he didn’t drink often, and it was a celebration, and honestly he was just as drunk on the feeling of being out in public with James Bond, knowing the agent was _his_ , as he was on any intoxicating substance.

Bond had cut into a dance, taking the chance to dance with the bride; she smiled at him with absurd joy, and they exchanged sarcasms over the course of a dance while Q watched and _insisted_ he couldn’t dance.

That was, until Bond extended a hand.

Q looked at him with doubt, with something like confusion.

Bond had been so uncertain, so uncomfortable, about being out in public with Q in the first place. This wedding was one of their few times of being together in front of other people, and they had been intentionally very subtle throughout the evening. Alec and Eve both knew, of course; most of those present did, actually. It was simply that Bond still was not wholly comfortable.

Dancing together would be very obvious, very public indeed.

“Are you sure?” Q asked, keeping the slight slur out of his voice. Bond smiled at him, and just nodded.

Q accepted, let Bond pull him upright, arms tugging him in tighter. Bond was a gorgeous dancer, instinctively so, and Q allowed himself to be led by his lover, grinning outright at the feeling of Bond’s arms around him.

Alec wolf-whistled, and Bond flipped him the finger while keeping his other arm firmly attached to the small of Q’s back. “I love you,” Q murmured to him, feeling utterly _buoyant_ with joy. “I really do.”

Eve looked almost in tears at the sight of them together. She had been one of Q’s closest allies, somebody to cry to when Bond couldn’t do little things with him. Holding his hand, telling a soul, anything; Eve had assured him that one day, Bond would feel comfortable. Eventually, he would be happy to stand, show the world that he was in love with a man, and that was okay.

“I love you too,” Bond murmured, and – in front of a whole wedding of people – kissed Q.


	293. Chapter 293

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I absolutely adore your fills, and I was wondering if, perhaps,you could fill one for me? Maybe something along the lines of ‘Does Your Mother Know’ by ABBA for 00Q? Please and thank you!

The Quartermaster of MI6 was on the prowl, and it was transparently obvious, and honestly, a little bit weird.

Q was twenty-four. Bond was thirty-five. It was one hell of an age gap, far more than Bond could be happy with – and yet, he wanted to be happy with it. Q was gorgeous and brilliant and witty and sharp. Everything Bond could want, in fact.

Q’s attempts at seduction were absurdly endearing.

Bond smiled slightly, as Q curved his body in an immensely alluring way, as he flirted, as he batted his eyelids and sighed out eloquently. “How’re you doing?” he murmured, voice about an octave lower than usual.

It was almost impossible to not laugh.

“You need to stop,” Bond smirked, shaking his head a little. “Q, you’re being ridiculous.”

Q raised an eyebrow, slid closer. “Come on, Bond. Am I so bad?”

A soft smile, mocking and gentle. “Q, you’re over a decade younger than me. Don’t be ridiculous,” Bond told him firmly. “Go home, play with cuddly toys.”

“You are an absolute wanker,” Q pointed out, and smirked despite himself. “Bond, I mean it. Drinks. Just drinks.”

Bond laughed, shook his head. “No. Just stop, now.”

“Why?” Q returned obstreperously, making Bond roll his eyes. “Bond, I’m old enough to be your superior officer. I cannot imagine why you would think I’m too young to decide that I wish to date you.”

Bond blinked. “As when we met: you still have spots.”

“As when we met: my complexion is of little consequence,” Q parried, raising an eyebrow, enjoying the way Bond’s lips quirked in a mostly genuine smile. “I can ask, or order you as your superior. Post-work drinks. I can make it a social event if you’d like, put it in your work calendar. In fact, consider it done. Or I don’t give you nice shiny new toys to play with, hmm?”

“Surely you must have a responsible adult who handles you when you’re like this?” Bond asked, sounding almost weary.

Q just let out a rather inelegant snort. “Nobody’s ever been able to handle me, ‘responsible adult’ or not.”

Bond shot Q a patented smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

“Promises, promises,” Q grinned, and winked in a way he really couldn’t pull off. “This evening, 007. I’ll meet you outside.”

“Q,” Bond returned, with a semi-formal – and definitely mocking – nod.


	294. Chapter 294

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello! i’d like a story wherein there’s a new computer wiz in Qbranch that challenges Q in all things that matter: engineering, coding, hacking and the attention of 007. hope to read this one soon! – anon

Q was, for one of the very first times in his life, suffering from paralytic levels of jealousy.

Michael was settled in the further edges of Q-branch, on a laptop, typing. He had been doing so for quite a while. Q had been watching his progress with interest and anger and hatred and worry, and inexorably mounting levels of jealousy which refused to die out.

Bond, meanwhile, was watching with terrifying levels of amusement, which was having a general repercussive effect on Q’s fondness for him.

“Stop snorting,” Q snapped, eyebrows creased.

Bond just continued to watch, unashamed, head tilted slightly to one side. “He’s… rather good-looking, isn’t he?”

Q’s eyes widened, face draining before flushing red with colour once again. “Really fucking tactful thing to say to your boyfriend, Bond, well done.”

Bond glanced up at Q’s expression, and completely failed to restrain a smirk. “Jealous, my dear Quartermaster? I really would have thought better of you.”

Q’s eyes were bleak with worry. “He’s good, Bond. He’s really good. I mean, seriously, could be truly inspired, probably lead the whole bloody branch one day…”

“And you think he’ll usurp you?” Bond suggested, blinking innocently, while Q assumed an expression akin to a kicked puppy. He was surprisingly good at such expressions. “Oh, Q. Quartermasters do not get usurped. Anyway, you were doing that kind of work at half his age, by what you’ve told me. So calm down. If you get really worried, I’ll kill him for you. Sound alright?”

It was more than a little encouraging, the sweet, soft way Q smiled. “Thank you, James,” he said gently. “Love you.”

“And you, you ridiculous man,” Bond returned, rolling his eyes. “Stop worrying. You hired him. You know he’s good.”

Q shrugged. “Better with than against.”

“True,” Bond acceded, and shook his head slightly as Q’s attention returned directly to the computer, to carefully examine everything Michael was doing.


	295. Chapter 295

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heyy you’re writing is awesome so I approach with a prompt: today I’ve been told/have felt completely irrelevant so could I request a 00Q fic where Bond feels irrelevant and Q proves him otherwise? Thanks if you get around to it :) – anon

Q tapped off the final lines of code with a distinct flourish, smirking slightly. “And there we have it,” he said in his earpiece, letting it route up to M, who immediately replied back with several sentences of pure praise for Q’s work.

“I’m assuming I should be on my way back?” asked a gravelled, relatively sarcastic-sounding voice on the line; Q let out a soft sigh, rolling his eyes a little.

M got there before him. “007. You’ve been proven superfluous, it seems; back to the UK on the next flight, if you would.”

Bond disconnected without an official signoff, which was relatively indicative of how irritated he was; he had been on the mission for over a fortnight, in deep cover, and it had taken a lot of work for him. Then, at the last minute, Q had discovered that most of Bond’s work could be done remotely, and Bond need not have gone at all.

Q organised a flight back, and Bond near-enough sulked for the next few days.

-

“Bond, I need your help. They’ve found me. They’ve traced it back to me, from your Morocco mission,” Q said urgently, typing, sounding more than a little bit frantic. “They’ve traced back to my flat, our flat. 007, consider this a new mission brief: get the fuck home,  _now_.”

Bond ran.

When he slammed a foot into the door, it obediently buckled; the moment Bond noticed more than one person in the apartment, he had the gun out.

Q had a gun under his chin, eyes facing the ceiling. Bond looked to the assailants. “Put him down, or I shoot you,” he ordered.

The man behind Q smirked, and Bond fired; a tight shot, but he had worse shots historically. To his immense satisfaction, he managed a clean shot; the man crumpled, and Q whipped around instantly to punch one of the others in the face.

Bond rolled his eyes, yanked Q back. “Get down,” he snapped, and continued shooting, as the apartment seemed to nigh-on explode with gunshots.

Q obediently stayed precisely where he was, watching his James Bond in action – and he was breathtaking. More than Q could have imagined; he had never seen Bond like this, in person. Cameras were a very distant way of watching, and didn’t do Bond justice.

When all was done, MI6 clean-up called in, Q curled in Bond’s arms. “I underestimate you.”

Bond smirked, kissed the top of Q’s head, feeling oddly vindicated. “Yes. You do,” he said without malice, and pulled Bond in tighter.


	296. Chapter 296

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi i really love your work and i was wondering if you would fill a prompt for me: basically there is a homicidal sexist mainiac attempting to murder all the female 00’s. Thank you - TheMadThing

“001? 001, report?”

Q turned to M with genuine worry, as M continued to try and get 001 back online. “I hate to say it, but…”

M glanced at Q, eyebrows narrowed, disguising his concern perfectly. 001 was the third. The first two had seemed anomalous enough – the agent in question going off-radar, unable to be found again – and now 001 seemed to have done the same.

“We need to get her back online,” M ordered; Q obeyed, finding nothing but insistent static. “Consider this a new mission: we need to find who, and  _what_ , is taking out our double-oh agents.”

Q nodded. “On it,” he replied, and turned to his branch. “Ladies and gentlemen, I need visuals, I need  _something_  on 001,  _now_. Right now. I want agents out, and M – med team?”

“Let’s be safe,” M agreed, and Q deployed everyone in the faint vicinity. “Q. Your opinion?”

Q continued to type, mind working on a million different themes. “I’m not liking that it’s all the female double-ohs,” he muttered. “I had a lost comm. on 003 a week or so ago, and there are no male agents that seem to be targeted. May be nothing, but…”

“001 was receiving through threats on her computer,” Bond said from behind them; Q didn’t turn around, didn’t really see the point, but started bringing up 001’s emails instead. “Before she left, she spoke to us; only the girls are getting anything.”

M shot Bond a rather acerbic glance. “And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“Not until we had evidence,” Bond returned, unfazed by the expression. “Anyway. Potential sexism, misogyny…”

Q raised an eyebrow. “These are impressive,” Q noted, showing the screen to M and Bond; both of their expressions quirked in tandem. “Definite sexism. I’m screening senders, these are easy enough to track. Bond, I blame you a little bit, this could have been dealt with earlier…”

“ _Q_.”

Q turned, and already knew.

“Backup and med team on site, 001 has disappeared, as per the others. Tracking vehicles and exit routes in the immediate vicinity,” R reported, as Q rolled his eyes, sighing a little. “I’ll work with you on identity of our abductor, yes?”

Q nodded absently; R was truly the greatest second-in-command anyone could wishfor, simply because she anticipated precisely what he was about to ask. “Bond, get the hell out of here, and tell the double-ohs,” Q snapped at him. “M?”

“As you are, report hourly,” M ordered, shaking his head. “Get them back, if you can. We can’t afford to lose this many agents.”

Honestly, Q was no longer listening, busy working. “Received,” he returned, and tuned out everything else.


	297. Chapter 297

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q grew up in foster care and never got enough to eat, so now he hoards his food and keeps hidden little catches around his flat and the office. Q branch realizes James must be something special when they see Q sharing with him. – anon

Everybody knew that if they found food in odd places, it was not to be touched, and not to be enquired about.

Q hid food everywhere. His office was filled; every nook and cranny of the room had _something_ , an instinctive little habit that he had no desire to quell. If anything should happen, he would never go hungry. Not again.

Q-branch knew, and never touched. Not even R, who everybody knew was Q’s closest friend in Q-branch, and he trusted her completely.

So when Q was spotted, sharing a packet of crisps with Bond, expression very guarded, everybody found it quite extraordinary. “Guys, Q’s eating with Bond,” one of the lower-down minions hissed; eyes widened, and everybody went onto the feed from the only camera in the branch that showed even a glimpse of Q’s office.

Sure enough, Q and Bond had split open the crisp packet over the table, and were sharing it between them. Bond kept stealing the bigger ones, and Q poked him intermittently and seemed to be almost comfortable but not quite with the entire affair.

Q-branch  _awwed_  in unison, when Bond fed Q the biggest crisp in the packet with a small smirk, Q looking irritated, before conceding defeat and winding up with an oversized crisp stuffed in his mouth, and half-blushed, half-choked on the damn thing while Bond laughed.

Q continued talking to Bond, words nobody could hear, looking immensely uncomfortable as he opened his drawers to reveal other caches of food around his office.

Bond, to his credit, just looked quietly sympathetic. He offered not a syllable of judgement. There was also the rather amusing point of him glancing around Q’s office, scouting for further stores while Q smirked; most of them were very well hidden.

“They’re so  _cute_ ,” a minion breathed, looking over the screen. “Oh, my  _god_.”

“Dare I ask  _what_  is cute?” Q asked drily, glancing over the screens; everybody, in unison, scrambled.

Q was not stupid. He also had a time-delay on the footage from the camera opposite his office, which gave him a perfect advantage on his Q-branch minions. When they all clubbed together to spy on him, therefore, he tended to be able to find out quite easily.

“Alright then. Prepare for all your sordid little trysts to be splashed across the intranet within twenty-four hours,” Q told them all, rather enjoying the aggrieved expressions while Bond hovered behind him comfortingly. “Back to work, all of you.”

Q turned back to Bond, rolling his eyes. “I like you giving orders,” Bond told him, lower than a breath, right into his ear.

Bond winked at Q’s little, wide-eyed gasp, and brushed a speck of crisps playfully from the corner of his mouth.


	298. Chapter 298

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I have an idea for a 00Q prompt! Q is a therapist for MI6. He is assigned Bond. After a few sessions he tells Bond he can’t be his therapist anymore. He makes something up as an excuse but the true reason he dropped Bond as a patient was because he became attracted to him. Thanks! – anon

Gun.

 _Shot_.

Murder.

 _Employment_.

Black.

 _Magic_.

Q couldn’t help but smile a little; Bond was perhaps the most infuriating, and brilliant, person he had ever come across. A brilliant agent, certainly; he spent his life driving everybody insane, usually on purpose, and turned up to psych sessions with a grin and smirk and ridiculously flirtatious little words and laughs.

It was wrong. Everything Q was feeling was definitely, completely wrong.

Bond tilted his head slightly to one side, and Q honest to god felt his mouth go dry. This was bad. Really, honestly bad. But hearing Bond say  _magic_  in a voice that was near-enough filthy was just too much for any single person to put up with, and it seemed that Q had officially reached his limits.

“I’m afraid to say that this will be the last you’ll be seeing of me,” Q told Bond, only very slightly avoiding the man’s gaze.

For a fractional second, Bond honestly looked disappointed. “What did I do?” he asked, before winking; Q swallowed awkwardly, and smiled.

“I have my reasons,” he said, aiming for general evasion and mystique rather than awkwardness. “I’ll hand you over to a nice psych. Somebody who can survive you.”

Bond snorted. “You have nobody. I thought you were hardy.”

“I am!” Q objected, immediately regressing to a far younger man, and berating himself an instant later. “It has nothing to do your acerbity or sarcasm, Bond, although full marks for effort.”

Q raised an eyebrow as Bond leaned further forwards. “So,” he murmured. “If you’re not my psych, I’m guessing it’s no longer unprofessional for us to go out at some stage?”

With a little gasp, Q all but dropped the clipboard. “Erm. Not now. Still in session. This is wrong. This. Later, Bond. Definitely. Come down to the med centre. We can talk then. But now, given that we  _are in session_  and I am  _still your psych_  no. Absolutely no, no.”

Bond snorted as Q turned to the blackened one-sided glass. “ _No_ ,” he repeated, emphatically, and turned back to Bond. “I think we’re done here, yes?”

“Yes,” Bond agreed, grinning. “See you soon.”

Q nodded, and shooed him out the door. “ _Sorry_ ,” he mouthed, as he shut the door loudly in Bond’s face.

Bond’s laughter could be heard all the way down the corridor.


	299. Chapter 299

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if you’ve done werecats with 00Q but I was wondering if you could do post-mpreg werecat!Q having to take his newborn twins, who’ve refused to shift back into human form, to work because they refuse to be separated from him. Bond tries to relieve him but they want Q and all of Q-branch coos over them. Just looking for some adorable fluff. – anon

Q had kittens on his lap.

M stared, stared a little more. Blinked. Looked briefly skywards, and walked right out of his office again without another damn word on the subject.

“James,” Q whined down the intercom, as one of the kittens tried valiantly to trail up his chest, and failed pathetically. “James, I need to sleep. I need to  _work_. I’ve done neither in bloody days. Not good. They won’t shift, they won’t sleep. I need them back to human form,  _please_.”

Bond appeared, dutifully, a few minutes later; his werecat partner was looking genuinely wrecked, one of his kittens balled on his lap, the other literally in the palm of his hand and figuratively making his life hell. “I’m tired,” Q moaned.

It was difficult not to laugh a little, but Bond did restrain himself; Q proffered their children at his partner, and Bond dutifully took one of his hands. “Lil, come on,” he coaxed, trying to detach his other child.

Apparently, Lily had decided to Velcro to Q’s cardigan. “You’ll make it run,” Q said urgently, batting Bond away. “Lil, off.  _Off_ ,” he pleaded, trying to individually detach her claws from his beloved cardigan. “ _James_ , help!”

“Q, we have a report from 008?” R ventured from the doorway; Q and Bond shot her parallel looks of irritation, and she withdrew again.

Lily let out a plaintive little mew, and Q visibly melted. “Sweetheart, what is it?” he coaxed, gently running a finger over the top of her head, stroking. “Shh, little one.”

“You spoil her,” Bond warned, as Q lifted her – finally – off his cardigan, and allowed her access to his cup of tea; the kitten’s spine rolled, and she happily settled with her cup of tea, and Bond was reminded just that they really were biologically Q’s.

Bond snuck up behind, scooped up Lily – while her twin obstreperously decided to become human formed again. Thus: twice as large, twice as heavy, and twice as difficult to handle.

“ _Children_ ,” Bond said exasperatedly, as the two babies started pawing at one another in their divergent forms. “Q, I blame you for this.”

“That’s all very well – just go home, I’ll be there soon, and if they’re up when I get there I’m coming after you,” Q said, through a yawn. “R, you were saying?”

Bond blew a kiss to his lover, who waved back absentminded as Bond – encumbered with two small children – made his way out of the building.


	300. Chapter 300

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for your wonderfull writing! I enjoy each and every of your filled promts)) If you have time could you please fill a prompt for me?) Bond fell in love with Q and tries to win his heart. But Q doesn’t believe in agent’s feelings due to many reasons. And he doesn’t understand what Bond sees in him. So Bond does something special to convince Q that his feelings are sencere. And beatifull fluffy sex in the end)) Thanks!) – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lex

“What is it  _now,_  007?” Q asked, fingers locked to his keyboard, pausing only to twine around his cup of earl grey.

“Drinks?” Bond asked, leaning against the side of Q’s work desk, almost knocking over a disembowelled handgun.

Q flipped to the touch screen in front of him, affording an irritated glance towards Bond. “Oh for god’s sake… Bond, this is the third time! Not to mention, completely the wrong time,” he announced firmly.

“Third time lucky?” Bond tried, surreptitiously attempting to repair the damage to Q’s pet project before the Quartermaster noticed.

“ _OUT_ , Bond.”

-

After a full eight attempts by Bond to get him out, Q was finally sat in the MI6 Starbucks, a very large pot of tea in front of him. Bond had something espresso-based. Q was mostly very distracted by the fact that he was on a pseudo-date with James bloody Bond. “Why?” he asked wearily.

“Why what?” Bond asked him, stirring about three sachets of sugar into his tar-like coffee.

“Why me? Why this?” Q asked, rolling his eyes with sheer exasperation. “I wouldn’t say I was your normal ‘type’.”

“Nope, got that right.” Bond nodded, sipping the drink and scowling childishly. “These get ever more bitter with age,” he commented.

Q’s frustration was palpable. “Back on subject:  _why_?”

“I like you,” Bond said simply, shrugging as he picked up another two sachets of sugar, and tipped them in. “A lot.”

Q almost slapped him. “Oh, superb. Oddly enough, I’m not interested in having sex with you; is that truly so hard for you to believe?”

“Yes, actually,” Bond replied calmly, leaning back with his coffee, apparently now sugary enough for his aging taste buds.

“Do explain.”

Bond smirked, watching his Quartermaster gradually break down. “You watch me. You spend more time on my equipment than any other double-oh. You flirt, constantly. It’s very endearing.”

“Alright,” Q managed primly. “Fine. You seem to think I favour you? Many do. You are the best we have.”

“‘Many’ don’t stare at my arse,” Bond jibed. Q blushed, a delightful shade of crimson, starting seemly from the base of his spine and trailing all the way up to his ears.

“I haven’t been…”

Bond outright laughed. “I don’t mind, Q. I’m flattered. And, like I say,” he continued, with a small pause.“I like you a great deal.”

“Why?” Q asked, slumping in his chair, no longer bothering to deny his attraction. “Why me?”

“Other than your intelligence, stunning body…”

“Oh, shut up,” Q snapped irritably, “Don’t mock me, Bond.”

“I wasn’t,” Bond told him firmly, leaning forward and catching Q’s hand. “You’re beautiful.”

Q felt his lip twitch at the complement as he looked down. His mind was a source of constant praise, his skills and job highly exalted. His body was another matter, lanky and pale and anaemic-seeming.

“This isn’t funny,” Q told him with quiet anger, snatching his hand away, draining his tea. “I don’t know who put you up to this…”

Bond looked heavenward in a silent lament. “Nobody put me up to it. Why is that so hard to believe?!”

“Because you are  _James Bond_!” Q said emphatically, with a slightly manic laugh. “Womaniser, commitment-phobe, hot blooded  _heterosexual_.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about me,” Bond commented, smiling sadly, voice inches from being brittle. “Shame most of it’s complete shit.”

“Forgive me for not believing you.” Q muttered, playing with the handle of his now-empty cup.

Bond raised his hands in defeat, finishing his own drink. “Fine.”

“Really?” Q asked, a little shocked at how easy it had been, given Bond’s insistence on taking him out in the first place.

Bond glanced up. “Well. Since you seem determined to think the worst of me, I suppose I will just have to prove you wrong,” he said with a wink, tossing his cup into the bin and ambling out. Q watched him leave with an increasing sense of trepidation.

This would not end well.

 

-

Flowers appeared on his desk. Bottles of wine, chocolates. Q had never felt so thoroughly wooed in his life. Nevertheless, his resolve stuck; Bond would ask, and he would shake him off.

After two months, finally it stopped.

Q breathed. No more James Bond attention.

“Q.”

Or not.

“Yes 007?” Q sighed. He had been working for approaching thirty-two straight hours, and he really could not be bothered with his suitor at the moment.

“My equipment.”

“You don’t need any…”

“I’ve brought it back,” Bond told him flippantly, placing every single article onto Q’s desk.

Q glanced them over. Not a single scratch. Not even a dent in the paintwork. “Oh,” he managed.

“I’ll see you later,” Bond nodded, moving for the door.

“James? Wait,” Q called, shocked at his own voice, abruptly unsure of what to say. “I… Thank you.”

Bond shot him the same sad smile he often wore around Q. “It’s my job,” he replied simply.

Q watched him slowly re-enter the office, blinking, holding the gun stupidly. “You never return your equipment,” he noted aloud.

“Things change,” Bond told him, moving inches away from his Quartermaster, Q rendered mute in front of him. The younger man felt his breath catch, mind slowly realigning.

“You seriously want to be with me?” he asked quietly, almost daring to hope, turning off the little voice in his head for just one moment.

“Yes,” Bond replied simply, reaching out and cupping Q’s chin.

“Not just sex. I mean, I want more than…”  
“Yes.”

“Oh,” Q breathed, and leaned into the touch. His hand snaked up, lopping around the hand stroking his cheek. “Alright then.”


	301. Chapter 301

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hay i don’t know if your still taking 00Q prompts but I have one, Q and bond can be together or not but bond keeps hinting (he thinks he’s being blunt but maybe he’s really not) trying to find out Q’s real name. Q either does not notice bond asking or cant/wont tell bond his name, this start to fuck with bonds head (becoming suspicious/upset/self loathing) angst or not I just want to see this for some reason thanks and you rock – akira017

“It’s Q. Just Q. It will never  _be_  anything other than Q. So please, James, for the love of everything holy,  _stop asking_ ,” Q snapped; Bond looked over him, jaw tight, furious and upset and worried about  _why_ , why in the hell Q refused to tell him a damn thing.

Q just stared at him, completely merciless. He would never tell a soul. It was a state secret, his real name was bloody embarrassing – and more than anything else, it didn’t  _matter_. It wasn’t  _him_. It was a label, some perverse hangover from a person he no longer was, and he did  _not_  want any more of it.

Bond exhaled slowly, wearily. “I just…”

“My name is  _Q_ , and I want you to bloody well respect that,” Q hissed, and all but threw Bond out of his office.

The door locked behind him, and Bond felt everything clouding inwards, compressing his brain. Q did not trust him. That seemed the only potential explanation; Bond was privy to many state secrets, was completely unshockable, and  _needed_  to know. Q had been somebody, once, and his name was something Bond wanted to understand, knowing the person Q had once been seemed  _necessary_.

Q had left himself behind out of shame, out of anger, out of pain. Things that Bond could never touch, and Q did not want to expose him to; it was his own, just his own.

Bond breathed out, head spinning a little as he tried to grasp it. It was not a case of not respecting Q, not in the slightest. But names  _meant_  something, and it was instinctively upsetting that Q did not have a real one.

Later that evening, and Q came home, and Bond just waited and thought and worried, worry turning to hate that turned inwards, sharply stabbed, reminding him that he had no  _right_  to be like this, to constantly pursue Q over it.

Q told him as much.

“Q is a name,” he pleaded, almost  _desperate_. “It is my name. Not a title, not anything, it’s who I am. Not just ‘Q’ as in Quartermaster, but Q as a title for the person I am, now. I don’t  _want_  you to know who I was, and frankly, you have no right to ask me to tell you. Leave me to be Q. If that isn’t enough, then go.”

Bond blinked. “I never wanted to go,” he murmured. “Q,  _no_. Hell, I have no interest in going anywhere. I just… I live in secrets, but not with you. I really don’t want them with you.”

“It’s not a secret,” Q said exasperatedly. “It’s a memory. Not even one I  _like_. Leave it. Please, just leave it.”

Bond twitched a smile, and really, had no choice but to nod.


	302. Chapter 302

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone at MI6 thinks Bond is extra careful with his gun and radio because these are the last things Q gave him before he died. You know, sentimental reasons. Little do they know, Q has found a way to communicate with Bond from the afterlife through these gadgets, and ends up fulfilling his role of quartermaster as a ghost. :) - anon

It was something of a record; a double-oh agent, keeping every single item of weaponry and equipment he was given in perfect condition for over six months, and counting.

Bond smiled, fingers running over the barrel, brushing over the trigger. He maintained it perfectly, and entirely on his own, after what had to have been  _hours_  of research; for somebody who knew guns so intimately, long-term care was rarely something Bond needed to know about. None of the agents did. They handed the maintenance issues over to Q-branch.

 _That’s a scratch, James_ , the voice teased, and Bond’s mouth twitched in a smile.

Those watching exchanged sad expressions, and failed entirely to understand quite why Bond was smiling.

Q had been abducted and killed almost seven months ago. Bond had been in Uruguay at the time. Somehow, he had returned from that mission with everything he owned intact, and managed the same feat on every single mission thereafter.

 _James, come on. You need to clean it properly, you ridiculous man_ , Q’s voice told him, chastising, smiling in his mocking and lovely way, watching over Bond’s progress and keeping the equipment intact.  _Stop grinning like an idiot, you nearly broke your transmitter this time._

“But I didn’t,” Bond noted aloud, and everybody had tuned out the little phrases and words from Bond, that occurred intermittently. He was still perfectly competent, the psychs all confirmed that; he simply smiled once in a while, spoke aloud to somebody whom everybody knew was long dead.

A soft sigh from Bond’s lips, and he wished. For his Q, the man he had fallen in love with, the man who lived with him in the guns and equipment, who murmured in his ear when he was on tricky missions.

Of course, his Q was omnipotent now. Q could tell him when and where to go, how fast, how slow, where people were hiding. If it contradicted Q-branch, if it took him within a hair’s breadth of danger, it didn’t matter; he had Q there, and Q had never failed him yet.

And if he died, well. He would be with Q again, and honestly, he didn’t mind that as much he should have done. In fact, he minded a lot less than he wanted to admit.

“The bloody irony is, I preferred the Glock,” Bond mused, with a glint in his blue eyes that seemed to almost reflect, somehow.

Q’s laugh was trilling and brilliant and so very his.  _Shut up, you ungrateful wanker. At least you have something_.

Bond smirked, nodded, and continued cleaning with the constant hum of Q’s voice in his ear.


	303. Chapter 303

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a lawyer and Bond is too. Because of his age, Q gets underestimated by most,including Bond. He regrets it later and then takes interest in this young, cocky man…. – anon

The boy was up and down like a goddamn yoyo. Honestly, it was getting very tiring to watch; Bond barely needed to open his mouth before the young defence attorney bounded up out of his seat with an  _objection_  poised on his tongue.

Not to mention that his cross-examinations were lethal.

Nobody went into defence, if they could avoid it. It is impossible to guarantee who or what you will be defending; rapists, murderers, petty criminals, innocents. The latter are the smallest bracket, cynically speaking.

Bond had always been prosecuting and was happy with it. He was renowned for being a formidable courtroom opponent, and everyone had assumed that this particular case – a possible fratricide – would be an absolute whitewash. The defence team were young and inexperienced, pretty to watch but mostly useless.

Everybody called the kid Q. Bond had the best opportunity to watch him when he first got into his stride, cross-examining Bond’s best witness, a next-door neighbour. Q had, quite honestly, torn the woman’s testimony apart. Even Bond was beginning to harbour faint doubts about the truthfulness, which boded rather badly.

The end of the day approached; Q’s witnesses would be up the next day, but Bond already had something of a sinking feeling concerning this case.

He ran into Q in the bathroom. “We haven’t met properly,” he stated, extending a hand; Q looked at it, raised an eyebrow.

“We’re also not really on the same side,” he commented, a little patronisingly. “James Bond. Call me Q, if you would, my real name’s a little cumbersome. Now, I need to be off; my client would probably appreciate a word.”

Bond watched Q leave without further comment, smiling slightly. Honestly, he found Q intoxicating.

It made the next day a little more enjoyable. They bounced off one another like lightning while in the courtroom, and in a break, Bond found the young man again. “So. Drinks?”

“Your unprofessionalism is astounding,” Q commented drily, trying to escape.

Bond caught him, spun him around. “Not case-related. You and I, just drinks,” he tried, a little more cautiously.

Q raised an eyebrow, head tilted slightly to one side. “Honestly?” he asked, voice low. “Hmm. Alright, then. A single  _murmur_  of the case, and I’ll punch you.”

“Understood,” he replied with a smirk, and ambled out the room.


	304. Chapter 304

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi Jen. Love your fics! Here’s a prompt: I’d like a scene similar to the beginning of Skyfall, where M ordered Eve to take the shot, but with Mallory!M ordering Q to trigger some explosion that would almost certainly kill both Bond and the bad guy. Much like Eve, Q hesitates, but eventually does the job. The fallout is similar to Skyfall, and maybe Eve commiserates with Q, as they have now both killed James Bond? Thanks! (I prefer no established 00q, but either way is fine.) – bipartite-pairings

“Knock it out.”

“That could lead to a very severe explosion,” Q returned, typing quickly, eyes intense.

“I am aware of that, Quartermaster!” M snapped at him, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the control desk; he never called Q by his full job title, not unless he was seriously worried or angry.

Q nodded, fingers locked onto the keyboard. “The explosion would encompass the entire facility, and part of the surrounding area,” he replied quickly.

“Civilian casualties?”

“Minimal, it’s all farmland.” Q told him, running a quick scan.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” M asked, exasperated .

“Bond’s still in there.”

“He is one agent Q.” M told him firmly, all eyes in the branch now on their controller. Skyfall might have been nearly half a decade ago but most of the assembled could remember.

“Sir…” Q began, watching Bond’s tracker on his secondary screen, well aware that the agent could hear every word spoken. “If we just wait a few more minutes.”

“Then we will lose the cell!” M barked, patience completely gone. He was already making the toughest call of his entire career, the last thing he needed was somebody reminding him that it was a potentially wrong one.

Q-branch waited, watching their leader with mixed expressions. Q’s fingers froze, seeming almost to seize up on the keys.

“ _Now_ , Q!”

“Understood.”

Three seconds later, a small building in Northern Italy exploded.

-

“How are you doing?” Eve had brought him a tea, Starbuck’s finest. It was one of Q’s enforced breaks and he sat with his personal laptop, curled up on one of the sofas. His nod functioned as a combined greeting and thanks as Eve took a seat next to him.

Q shrugged, sipping his tea and wincing; Eve handed him a sachet of sugar, and he half-smiled. “How does one ever feel after killing MI6’s top agent?”

“Numb?” Eve suggested, toying with her frappe. “Angry? Disappointed in one’s self and the system?”

“I believe that just about covers it,” Q agreed flippantly, closing down the laptop and placing it out of the tea-drip zone.

Eve reached forward, rubbing his arm, ever concerned about the worrying amount of bone beneath the cardigan. “Look, he’s James Bond. You never  _know,_  Q. There is almost enough for a club of us these days. ‘I killed James Bond’ is practically a passé statement.”

Q grimaced, almost snorting. “I caught him up in an explosion that toppled seven buildings and levelled the surrounding area. I think it’s fair to say I was thorough.”

“Well,” Eve smirked. “Take some comfort in knowing that you have succeeded where hundreds of incompetent villains have failed.”

“Helpful.”

Eve stood, deciding it was probably best to leave the brooding Quartermaster to his thoughts. “Try to stay positive Q, you did the right thing.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah. You did your job.”

—-

“Reporting for duty.”

“… James?”


	305. Chapter 305

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its me again TheMadThing i have aanother prompt for you basically bond takes q on a week long holiday but without any tech whatsoever. Thank you and have another cookie! – themadthing

“Q?”

“Yes?”

“What is this?” Bond asked wearily, holding what looked to be an i-pod shuffle.

Q blinked, and tried for an almost-innocent smile. “Music?” he suggested, wondering if he would get away with it. “Look, you said I could bring music,” he whined, as Bond carefully manoeuvred the thing between long fingers, exposing the tiny screen.

“Music? Yes. A miniature laptop? No,” Bond told him firmly, pocketing the device and blithely ignoring Q’s pleas.

Q leapt up from the lounger. “It has only  _minimal_  internet capacity, I can’t type on it, I won’t take it apart or…”

“ _No_ , Q. I am only asking you for  _one week_ ,” James told him, grasping his wrists firmly and bringing them to his lips. Tender, intimate, and an indiciation that he had no intention of letting the other man go. “Just chill. You me, no fucking computers. _Unplug_ , Q.”

“I’ll unplug when you stop drinking.” Q shot, eyes wide and terribly irritable as he tried to free his hands.

Bond fell silent.

 Q realised, with a little shiver, that he had crossed a line. “James, I…”

“No, no you’re right.” James told him, meeting Q’s eyes. “One week. Booze free.”

“Really?” Q asked, a little shocked. “Look, you don’t have to, and I didn’t mean…”

“Yes, you did. You think I have an addiction,” Bond shrugged. “And you would be right. Just as I think you are potentially addicted to technology; a constant stream of information.”

Q looked down, unable to hold the steady blue gaze.

“So. One week,” James sighed, pulling Q close, forgiving. “No alcohol, no computers. You, me, sea, sun…”

“And sex?”

Bond raised an eyebrow eloquently. “Q, I am not drinking for seven days. I truly doubt we will bother leaving the bedroom.”

Q grinned, pressing kisses beneath Bond’s ear, sucking sharply at the sensitive skin. “I’ll be working from seated next week?” he breathed.

“Possibly for the best.”


	306. Chapter 306

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for you, you beautiful person: Alpha/Omega’ verse. So, Q is omega and Bons is Alpha, nothing new. But! Omega and Alpha can only bond when omega is in heat, otherwise alpha doesen’t knot. Q and James decide to spend night together to get rid of the sexual tension. Everythig goes smoothly, but because of Bond alpha pheromones Q goes in heat. They’re to occupied to notice and realise it when Bond already knotted. They are now bonded and stuck together for a hour :D

“I spy…” Bond began, shifting so that his deadened left arm could make a bid for freedom.

“Oh, you are  _joking_ ,” Q replied sarcastically, giving the pillow in front of him a withering look and hoping it would convey the message to his new bond-mate.

Bond curled instinctively around Q’s thin body, the younger man evidently rather pissed off. “This could last another forty minutes or so,” he explained apologetically.

“Forty?!” Q attempted to turn around indignantly, the knot deep in his body preventing any such action and he was forced to be content with more death-glaring.

“ _Biology_ , Q! Believe it or not, this is not all some elaborate plan.” Bond remarked, with immense irritation.

“You honestly could have fooled me,” Q told him acerbically. After a moment or two, he let out a low whine. “I never <i> wanted </i> a bloody bond mate! Jesus how many do you even have?!”

“You’re my second,” Bond told him quietly.

Q blinked. “Who..?”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Q murmured, brow creased, placing a hand gently over Bond’s. They lay together for a few more minutes, breathing patterns naturally matching. Q sighed, shifting a little uncomfortably. “I know you didn’t intend to bond.”

Bond nodded. “Indeed.”

“And I don’t want you to feel obliged to… do anything or anything like that,” Q swallowed, the core of his biology resenting each word.

Bond nuzzled his nose into Q’s hair gently, smiling slightly. “And if I want to?”

Q felt silent, impossible joy flooding his system as his Alpha encircled him. “That might be… I think I would like that,” Q breathed, a little shyly, feeling Bond’s smile widen.

“I’m not a normal Omega, mind you,” Q told him, as he looped their fingers together.

“I’m not a normal Alpha,” Bond replied, squeezing his hand slightly. “I hardly want a house slave.”

Q raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Good. I can’t cook,” he grinned, making Bond laugh, a low rumble that echoed in the back of Q’s head. “You know, I’m still going to be on heat for a good couple of days…”

“I’ll let M know we won’t be in for awhile.”

“Wonderful,” Q grinned, and kissed him.


	307. Chapter 307

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi. I wanted to tell u how amazingly talented u r. like wOW girl spread some of that talent around ! If its no too much to ask, do you think you can write a choreographer!Q and lead ballet dancer!Bond, where Bond is cocky and Q is a challenge. Romance please~ the rest is up to you ~ anon

The obvious factor of Bond as a dancer was his strength. Q looked him up and down, eyebrow raised, uncertain of what to do with a lead dancer who transparently believed himself untouchable.

“James Bond,” said dancer purred, extending a hand.

Q raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. “Good morning, Bond. Plie sequence at the barre, if you would, then we can start work.”

“My first name’s James,” he purred, retracting the hand with surprising elegance after Q ignored it outright.

The dancer extended a hand to the barre, resting lightly on the wood. “And your surname is Bond,” Q returned calmly, sparking a small laugh from the dancer as he dipped into the sequence, the pianist at the side rolling his eyes at the usual flirtation from the premier danseur of the company Q had been brought in by.

The warmup was standard, and Bond tried valiantly hard to impress. Mostly, he succeeded; Q noted the technique with definite interest. He was good, very good. Q set him on another handful of exercises, an allegretto, an adagio sequence to explore extension. “I think you’ll do,” Q conceded, nodding. “Superb.”

“Is Elise coming?” Bond asked, referencing the prima ballerina; Q raised an eyebrow, and Bond’s expression contracted a little. “Ah. Is she…?”

“She is already cast,” Q told him simply. “This has been your audition. You are my Hamlet, Bond. Elise will be your Ophelia, before you look all bereft.”

Bond grinned. “Not bereft in the slightest, she’s hardly my type,” he purred, with so many implications it almost made Q wince. The man did not do subtlety. “So, Q…”

Q shook his head, arresting Bond mid-sentence. “Please don’t,” he asked wearily. “That was a truly abominable attempt at flirtation. I’m almost insulted. Take ten, lick your wounds, and come back here a little more professional.”

To Q’s tremendous enjoyment, Bond was rendered speechless.

Abruptly, his face broke into a wide grin, and he sauntered out like nothing had happened. “Bloody  _danseurs_ ,” Q swore quietly.

“Tell me about it,” the pianist sighed, and reached for a cardboard cup of coffee.


	308. Chapter 308

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So someone has the headcanon that James has ordered Q to NOT listen in, if and when he dies in the field…I’d like an angsty deathfic where Q absolutely disobeys that order and stays on the line until the very end. (I have no idea why I’m asking for MORE angst in my life…) - restlesslyaspiring

“Q, transfer me over to R,” Bond told him sharply, in a voice that tried very hard to be commanding, and somewhat failed.

Quite honestly, Q already knew. There was only one reason why Bond would abruptly demand to transfer handlers, midway through a mission, and it had minimal amounts to do with his work or anything too dire. “Is there any point deploying a med team?” he asked quietly.

Bond was silent for a moment. “They won’t reach me in time,” he said simply. Q listened, closed his eyes as Bond’s body slid down a wall somewhere, slumped against the brick. “Q, get off the line. You promised me.”

“I lied,” Q murmured, smiling slightly at the chaos of ranting those words induced as he deployed an urgent medical team, urging them to move as fast as they could. “James, you always knew I was lying. I’m not leaving you now.”

Q managed to hide the very slight break in his voice. He didn’t want to lose James, his very own James Bond, not like this. “Q, you shouldn’t have to…”

“I’m not arguing this right now,” Q interrupted, and the break was more obvious now because  _please_ , not like this, not now. It was always going to happen, they had both known that, but not just yet. Another day, another week. Another night. Another moment.

Bond exhaled slowly, unevenly in his ear. “Hurts like a sonofabitch,” he muttered, making Q snort. His voice sounded odd, distant. “Numb though. Look after yourself Q, yes?”

Q realised, disconnectedly, that he was barely computing what was happening. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” he breathed, and swore to himself, chucking his glasses onto the desk so he could bury his head in his hands. Q-branch had blissfully dispersed, leaving Q and Bond to whatever they still had, whatever they could find.

“You don’t have to, but given the circumstances, probably advisable,” Bond managed, wincing as he shifted. They were quiet for a moment. “Goodbye, Q,” Bond murmured eventually, so quietly.

“I love you,” Q told him pointlessly, as though that would alter a damn thing.

Bond, propped against a dirt wall in Karachi, smiled like nothing else mattered. Like nothing else ever had, or ever would, matter. “I love you too,” he said easily, words tripping out without effort. There was nothing to lose by telling the truth, this time.

Q wiped tears away angrily, listening to Bond’s breathing become more laboured. “Fuck, well. This is going well. I always thought I’d be a little more in control, when the time came.”

Bond managed a slightly wet laugh, tired-sounding, slow. “I’m almost flattered,” he returned, and the smile faded down a little. His voice was nearly nonexistent. “Fuck, I’m cold.”

“Stay with me, James. Med teams are on their way, minutes,” Q lied, knowing they were further off, that they wouldn’t reach. It wouldn’t stop him trying. Bond, the master of resurrection, the one who could survive  _anything_ , would not fall prey to an errant bullet. It was wrong, integrally wrong. “007, don’t you fucking  _dare_  give up on me.”

“Be safe, my Q,” Bond told him, quieter than Q had ever heard from him.

“No.  _No_ , James, no. Please, don’t, just hang on for me, please, just try…” Q ranted, breath hitching as he found no response, when Bond refused to reply. “Please, James, you have to try, you have to stay with me…”

The silence was deafening.


	309. Chapter 309

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing fills!!! :) I have another : Alec knows James is interested in Q but won’t do anything about it. To give James time, he warns off everyone else who’s after Q. James thinks Alec wants Q and feels his bff has betrayed him! :] – blueskycloud9

“I thought you were taking Q out for drinks?” Bond inquired casually to Ryan, one of the Q-branch kids.

“Oh… he was busy,” Ryan managed. “Sorry 007, but I am rather busy…”

“Really? Well, you had better keep going them,” Bond smiled, eyes dangerous.

Ryan looked rather pale, rather trembling; he vanished as quickly as he could, and Bond couldn’t help the faint smirk. Everybody was – gradually – seeming to understand that Q was off-limits.

The next minion he collared lasted exactly four seconds before bleating “ _I know, I’m sorry, 006 told me not to, but Q needed tea and I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise, I just brought him an Earl Grey because it’s morning and I…_ ”

“006?” Bond asked, watching the minion nod. “Thank you  _so_ much.” The joy on the lad’s face as he released him was immensely satisfying.

-

“Alec?”

Alec turned to him with a usual, debonair smile; he pushed his hair out of his eyes, glanced Bond up and down. “Who pissed you off?” he smirked, with evident amusement.

Bond resisted the urge to punch him with extreme difficulty. “You’re after Q,” he stated flatly; Alec opened his mouth, and Bond cut him off with a livid snarl. “You know about my interest, I was waiting for the right  _goddamn_  moment. I never would have thought you that selfish.”

“James, you don’t understand…” Alec began, hands open in a gesture of pure surrender.

“Don’t I? What, so you aren’t warning people away? Aren’t clearing yourself a path?” Bond snarled, incredibly tempted to throttle one of his oldest friends.

“Clearing  _you_ a path, you ungrateful tosser,” Alec replied heatedly, jaw tightening. The last thing he wanted was a livid row with a man he had known since he first joined MI6; both were trained to kill, with relatively little effort. “James, I don’t swing that way, I never have. You paranoid…”

Bond was very, very bad at doing one-eighties on his temper; he snarled, wheeled around, and punched a doorframe. Usually less dangerous than walls for knuckles; Bond examined the hand to find nothing broken.

“I did it for you because you are too much of a coward to do it yourself,” Alec told him, “he’s clear. All yours. Be happy, for once in your life.”

“Right,” Bond mumbled, unable to quite look his friend in the face. “Alec…”

“Buy me drinks sometime,” Alec told him, walking past the dented doorway. “But buy him some first.”


	310. Chapter 310

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Jen, could you please fill a prompt for me? Bond and Q on a mission together somwhere in the north. Because of the terrible snowstorm they are trapped in some small house (or something) without ability to contact HQ. Unable to do something and not knowing what to expect they try to comfort each other, talk about something personal, warm each other. nsfw scene would be great)) And happy ending. Thanks in advance! You’re wonderful!) – anon

Q sighed, tucking the coat around himself, teeth chattering a little. “I fucking hate this,” he said quietly, without much in the way of self-pity.

Honestly, Bond wasn’t surprised. Q was too thin, and really not built for any form of field work; he remained ensconced in as many layers as Bond could spare, and resolutely refused to allow the agent anywhere near him. It had nothing to do with dislike, and a great deal to do with Q’s rather established sense of pride.

“Q, you’re going to get ill,” Bond told him irritably, extending a hand out; Q glanced up, grimaced slightly, looked back down. “ _Q_ , for god’s sake. I’ve fucked you, I’m pretty sure you can manage me holding you for a bit, for the sake of your beloved fingers.”

It took a moment, but Q managed to blink, and nod.

Bond stood, enveloped Q in his arms; the Quartermaster stiffened initially, before apparently deciding he was bored of being difficult, and all but melted against him. “So. Do you honestly want to date, properly?” Q asked, yawning a little, an indication of how cold he’d been that he was now so tired.

Q had impeccable timing, Bond mused, almost impressed. “Yes, as it happens,” he replied easily. “And you?”

Another yawn; Bond waited patiently. “Obviously,” he replied,  _snuggling_  against Bond’s front. No wonder the man hadn’t wanted Bond’s presence; he’d turned to absolute mush the moment any physical affection was bestowed.

Bond started quietly testing his limits, pressing a soft kiss onto the top of his head. Q made a little, contended noise, and relaxed ever further.

Honestly, Bond considered it one of the most endearing things he had ever witnessed.

Q quirked his head around, glancing up at Bond. His arm snaked up along Bond’s arm, finding his cheek, pulling the older man’s face down into a sweet, lovely kiss. When they had sex, almost a week ago now, it had been a simply lust-driven affair; this was quieter, more contemplative.

“How’re you doing?” Bond murmured.

A lazy smile, and Q nuzzled a little closer. “A lot better now,” he admitted quietly. “You’re  _really_  warm.”

Bond couldn’t help but laugh, pressing soft kisses along Q’s head and body as the younger man finally started to thaw.


	311. Chapter 311

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a prompt where Q is always out with his girl/guy friends and James gets jealous? Thanks (:

Frankie and Benny’s was hardly the top end of dining excellence, but Q adored it. Ever since uni, himself, Adam, Sophia, Bethany and Janet had met once each month in its hallowed halls. Q slurped noisily at his cocktail as Beth attempted to chug down her own drink. She and Adam had recently got engaged, and the celebrations had been near-enough constant for about three weeks.

“So ‘Q’, Sophia giggled, the acronym still sitting strangely for her. “How’s your man?”

“James? Oh, he’s good, yeah.” Q smiled dimly; the less they knew about his love life, the safer it was for all of them. Especially Q himself.

Janet chipped in, finally coaxed away from her phone.“Good? Come on, we are  _dying_ to know about the elusive Mr Bond.”

“He’s fine! Look, he’s doing well – work is just so busy at the moment,” Q told them truthfully. “I’m lucky to get away!”

“Well, I hope you’ll be ok getting the wedding off,” Adam said firmly, “Because,” he continued, clearing his throat dramatically, “I want you to be my best man.”

Q’s eyes widened. He managed to choke on his afore-mentioned cocktail. “Seriously?” he coughed, while everyone laughed. “Bloody  _hell_ , Adam, are you sure?! I look ridiculous in a suit, and I can’t make speeches, and…”

“You’ll be  _fine_ ,” Adam assured him, patting him on the back in the hope of stopping the young man inhaling any more liquid. “But look, if you’d rather not…”

“No,  _god_  no! I’d love to, when is it again? I’ll put it in the calendar,” Q told him, searching frantically for his phone.

Beth giggled. “22nd of June. Thanks Q, it would mean so much to us,” she told him kindly, glancing over at Adam with a delighted type of shyness

“Absolutely. God do I have to do your stag? What about…?”

“We’ll talk more later Q, for now – more drinks!” Adam slammed his fist on the table, Sophia shrieking as her drink sloshed upwards and over the table.

-

“Where were you?”

“James…”

“Q, I haven’t bloody seen you in  _weeks_ ,” Bond said wearily, a little angrily. “I know your minions are lovely people, but…”

Q smiled, reached out to grasp Bond’s hand. “James, I’m going to be best man at Adam’s wedding,” he said calmly. “I want you to come with me, as my date. Please.”

James looked to him, stupefied. “Q… I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can do that.”

“What?” Q asked, heart sinking.

“It’s not… look, I love you,” he assured him, holding the younger man tightly. “But I don’t know if I can… in public, you know?”

Q took a breath, exhaled slowly. It was not a wholly unexpected conversation. Bond had never been quite happy with being ‘out’ in public, with Q; he avoided all of Q’s social engagements for the same reasons. “Okay,” Q murmured, trying to conceal a little of the hurt. “I do understand, I just… come out with us some time? Just drinks, something like that. Something little. You can’t hide this forever, people know, you know they know…”

“I’ll think about it,” Bond told him, kissing the top of Q’s head. “Would this mean I get to see more of you?” he smirked, eyes lightening a little.

“Yes. And you can protect me from all the flirtatious advances of large butch men. And lesbians,” Q told him, hugging him tightly.

“I don’t like sharing you,” Bond admitted. “Seems a little unfair they should see you  _so_ often, while I am left at home…”

“So you’ll come out this weekend?” Q asked, daring to hope for a moment.

Bond grinned, lifting Q’s chin to kiss him gently. “I suppose I’ll have to,” he murmured, with a mocking sigh. Q remained against him, and very nearly didn’t hear his final words.

“Can’t let the scary lesbians have you…”


	312. Chapter 312

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q prompt offer inspired by some pictures but its common info around MI6 that a perfect insight into Q’s mood is his eyes. From pure love whenever Bond shows up at Q-Branch to darker when his emotions are raw to giddy during a happy geek out. Would love cute romantic fluff and love the fills! – anon

The precise shade of Q’s eyes was a kaleidoscope, altering and mutating with each passing moment, dictated by mood and idea and general aura.

Usually, Q’s eyes were a shade of green. When Bond first began spending time with him, Q’s eyes would discernibly brighten; an emerald would shift into a phosphorescent lightness, almost pale, transparent. It was like watching clouds shift, the sky turn clear after hour of overcast dreariness.

Anger inspired bleakness. The spark in Q muted, the angular brilliance, the fire, tempered into something black and unpleasant. Bond would cup a hand over Q’s face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, trying to coax the spark somehow back. “Calm,” he would soothe, lips tracing Q’s, and the lightness would filter back by increments.

He was appallingly readable. His voice could cover anything, everything, but his _eyes_ ; well. Q tried to do everything remotely, mostly because he was a truly atrocious liar given that guilt could be played out across his face more easily than anybody knew to be possible.

Laughter made his eyes  _sparkle_. Everything caught them, in them, a trilling mess of ideas and beauty. Bond started trying to inspire laughs again and again, just to watch the fireworks in Q’s expression.

“I love you,” Bond breathed, and Q sighed; for the oddest of moments, his eyes slid into a shade of blue. Clear, oceanic blue.

He smiled, returning to stability, normality, in mere moments. “I love you too,” he murmured.

Bond’s ice blue eyes softened, and it was easy – so easy – to lose everything in that blue.


	313. Chapter 313

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) I have a prompt maybe Q is self-harming because of some missions by James where sometimes he is M.I.A and James discover this one day when he return at home and go to the bathroom and see Q with a razor or anything. And Q tell him it’s not the first time. Maybe some comfort… Thanks in advance – tigrasevaddict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: self-harm, suicide attempt

The door clicked open.

Q was taken utterly by surprise. Everything slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly, an awkward string of curses toppling from his lips as he tried to find his thin strip of metal again, hide it, aware that there was absolutely no point. “Q?”

Bond was very still, glancing over Q as he grappled, carefully picked the thin razor again, placing it on the side. There was blood, creased in his elbow, and Q rolled his eyes slightly at it; he hooked the towel around his forearm, pressing it carefully over the series of thin but notable indents. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, wondering how in the _hell_  he was going to talk his way out of it.

“Why?” Bond murmured, reaching out to Q’s arm, helping daub away the blood carefully. “I never did understand why somebody would want to,” he continued, before glancing up at Q, studying him carefully. “Explain, for me?”

Q continued to stare at his arm almost blankly, crying without conscious intention, trying not to meet Bond’s eyes. “I thought you were dead,” he said softly, biting the inside of his cheek, hard. It hurt, everything hurt, an ache under his skin that refused to go.

Bond lifted the towel, heading to their bathroom cabinet to find plasters, disinfectant. None were deep enough to need stitches, but nevertheless would need to be taken care of well. “I wondered what they were,” he mused, fingers tripping over the littler scars, the dying scabs of before.

“I’ve done this before,” Q said flatly. Oddly, it was easy to say. Cornered, words came more easily, fell away from him like so many stories. “When I was younger. It used to be… I don’t know, James. I can’t explain very well. I get… like anger, or hurt, and I make it stop, in my head, it just… pauses. Does that make sense? It’s a diversion of everything onto a single point.”

Bond stayed silent, Q grappling for any words he could find. “I’m careful,” he continued, more quietly. “I mean, I clean up, I know not to go too deep and where, I…”

“Don’t,” Bond interrupted, looking rather horrified by the whole situation, in that quiet way he had when he didn’t want to be drawn on a subject. “I… good, that you’re not going to get an infection, but the fact that we’re having to discuss the possibility of you  _accidently_  bleeding out in our bathroom is less than good.”

Q’s shoulders tensed in instinctive irritation. “I’m not going to ‘accidently’ do anything…”

“They’re  _accidents_ , it’s in the word,” Bond parried dryly. “Maybe you won’t do something deliberately, but maybe one day you’ll get too angry or whatever, or the ‘diversion’, as you call it, doesn’t work, and then I’ll find you dead. I’m not prepared to do that.”

Q did, at least, have the decency to look very ashamed of himself. “It isn’t something selfish,” he tried.

“It is,” Bond contradicted, without hesitation. “This is not something internalised. You’re potentially going to kill yourself, and that is selfish. I don’t blame you, Q, please don’t think that – but I need you to know this isn’t okay. You can’t keep doing this.”

To the surprise of both of them, Q burst into tears.

There was nothing more to be said, or done. Bond just pulled his fluid partner into his arms, and held him until the tears had dammed, until the shaking stilled, until the bleeding stopped.


	314. Chapter 314

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> urgh I wish I had half of your flair for writing so I could tell you how much I ADORE your fills. It would mean the world for me if you could write 00q based on Daughter’s song Still. Like, both feel trapped in the relationship but the love was once so strong that they hope that by staying together they could love each other again. Preferably a lot of angst. Thank you sooo much <3 – anon

They argued, constantly.

Q was getting to the stage of sheer exhaustion with the whole affair. With everything to  _do_  with James Bond, and the absurd, stupid fact that they were  _still_  attempting to stay together despite the relationship having died in the water months ago, god alone knew how long ago.

They fell in love, so hard, so fast. Too much of both. Too much passion and so much light. Loving every part of each other, almost blindly, certainly too much, too  _much_. Bond had taken an angry and electric young man, and Q had taken a broken and hurting older man, and they had built each other by example.

Q had needed to learn how to hurt, and Bond had needed relearn anger. It was a curious thing.

But Q had laughed like water, and Bond’s eyes had brightened, and their beings had orientated around one another – and they both lived for the moment when they did the same, once again.

Because Q had gained the hurt, and lost how to laugh.

Because Bond had anger, but no light.

Because they refused to believe that this was it. That the moments they had, once, were over. That something so idyllic could die so simply, so easily, and remain unmourned because nobody had ever noticed that it left.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Q said at one stage, and it was probably the most honest either of them had been in a long while. Losing one another would be devastating, ultimately, and they could not afford that kind of pain.

Everybody has limits.


	315. Chapter 315

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swimming can be a very sensuous experience. For a good swimmer, swimming laps can be either meditative or a really good way to see fit bodies in tight bathing suits. ( I worked up to swimming an hour a day in college to watch the nice male bodies all around me in the pool) So - how about a swimming flirtation? All body language and no words? – denimdaemon

Q swam instinctively. It was the motion, energy, of somebody who had never needed much tutelage; Bond watched him, and could imagine a far younger boy, the type to sink under the water for minutes at a time, testing the extent of breath and body, exploring in the confined intimacy of water.

In opposite, Bond was one who had been taught to swim for survival. Wrecked boats, emergency plane landings, everything from the truly dire to the generally annoying; Bond could force himself out of trouble in any circumstance, knew the tricks and byways. It became difficult, after a point, to truly  _enjoy_  something that he depended on so greatly to not die.

MI6 had access to a pool, usually after-hours. In practise, MI6 employees were able to use the pool in the middle of the night; given that some did actually keep to  _actual_ working hours, it was generally a safe bet that it would be deserted.

Barring the workaholics, the insomniacs, and the lonely.

Q and Bond could easily slide into all three categories, although would only admit to workaholic and insomniac respectively. They had their freedom in motion, and Q was truly a delight, lithe body eloquently cleaving water; Q had to have seen Bond – at least, Bond hoped Q was not that unobservant – but continued anyway, telling stories in the sway and curve of his body.

Of all things, Bond could understand that. Words had never been his speciality; too cumbersome, too uncomfortable to issue in a life made on deft constructions of lies, and bodies tended to be more honest.

Optimistically speaking, Q’s certainly was.

In more colloquial terms, Q was honestly showing off. His body arced elegantly, a sharp dart of expression in Bond’s direction betraying that he knew, that they both knew. That Bond was watching, and Q was content to be watched.

“Coming?”

The word broke through, shattered their delicate silence. Bond slid, muscle and strength, into an element that enveloped. Q smiled, ducking easily under the water and moving, an eel in the dimmed light, to explode in front of him like a firework, light sharpening off droplets.

Bond reached out, and Q slid away with gorgeous dexterity; a small laugh, blue eyes the same colour as the water, and they engaged in a odd semi-pursuit, Q laughing whenever his head broke the water, the rest an almost-eerie silence as they traversed the enclosed space.

Q breathed out, breath a little quick, Bond’s arms caging him against the edge of the pool. His legs worked to keep him afloat, eyes bright and electric and alive.

It was tempting, very tempting, to simply kiss him on the spot.

Instead, Q relaxed, and let his body slide once again beneath the surface. Bond had allowed himself a brief distraction, and Q exploited it to twine himself out and around, switching their positions, lips pink and inches from Bond’s own.

Bond reached out a hand, stroked over the edge of Q’s cheekbone.  _You’re beautiful_.

Q smiled, eyes glancing over Bond’s muscle and rib and arm.  _As are you._

A splash, and Bond was blinking water out of his eyes. Q laughed trillingly, playful and impossible, cascading through octaves. Bond splashed back.

An impromptu water fight, in a swimming pool, between two MI6 agents at two in the morning.

Bond managed to grab Q’s wrists, pull the slippery body inwards; when Q leaned up and kissed him, it felt right. Organic, even. The culmination of words that didn’t require voice, a simple ending, finally.

Water broke, mended, and Bond refused to let him go.


	316. Chapter 316

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst prompt: Anniversaries aren’t always a good thing. Sometimes it’s the anniversary of something bad. And sometimes just an otherwise innocent date on the calendar brings up all kinds of horrible thoughts and feelings. – anon

There is a deadness that never seems to shift, hasn’t shifted in precisely one year, will perhaps never shift as the years tick by and by, insistently by and by and by, and the bleakness and the loss of anything alive is insistent and immediate, and yet nothing, there is nothing.

It is easy to navigate the hallways, find the empty hallways that hold only a handful of ex-MI6 staff, the ones they have no clue what to do with, the ones whose minds splintered apart, allowing nothing to remain. Torture can do that. Eventually, everything breaks under pressure. A human mind is a simple thing, a mass of neurons, surrounded by a cage that is surprisingly soft, surprisingly breakable. No mind is diamond. It all goes, eventually.

The edges were ground down, ground out. The sharpness and electric brilliance faded to nothing, and it is precisely one year. Just one year, and so  _little_  appears to have changed. It is heartbreaking.

Injuries heal, physically. The open gashes crust to scabs knit to scars and fade, from red to pink to white to translucent, the suggestion. They are still discoloured now, not quite suggestions, but indisputably present.

The smile is lopsided, but it is, at least, present.

One year, and doors splintered inwards, finding a corpse and blood and sweat and screaming, and it took a long while to extract the living from the dead and try to make everything cohere, force life back into breathless lungs and empty, echoing hearts.

The screaming didn’t actually stop for over two months. After that, there was silence, and in some senses that was  _so much_  worse.

MI6 lost two agents that day.

Now, there is nothing. The gaps were filled because they had to be. Everybody knows the date, because the unpleasantness, the  _precise_  sadism of that particular event scarred the collective psyche, made everybody wary. Even the strongest cannot always survive, and that was terrifying to become aware of.

The tears puddle on a smooth desk, no edges, and nobody has ever known what to say.

It is getting better. Days pass, and fingers itch, and eyes focus. It is no less agonising, but it recedes a little, becomes a touch more peripheral. It is simply a case of knowing where the pain lies, where it springs and where it sleeps, and timing accordingly.

At seven o’clock each day, clockwork, there is a deterioration. Tears, the occasional screaming fit if the day has been hard, if the memories crowd too closely inwards.

Every other day, there is the difficulty in prising out of bed, out of stillness, out of nothing. They alternated, the captors. Every other day. There is a reprieve, and the knowledge that somewhere, there is pain that cannot be fixed or touched or healed.

And then, there is today.

Nobody wants to think about what will happen today.


	317. Chapter 317

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry you probably are swimming in prompts and I’m not really sure if you’ve written this before (new fan) if you have, sorry again… Anyway, what about a first date? their first date with Bond being Bond and Q not really sure how to act and being nervous but not wanting to show it… It’s too fluffy I know but I’d just love to read that!!! I love all things awkward. By the way, you’re really awesome!!! In Mexico we’d say you are “a toda madre” because of your awesomeness. Keep on writing! - raima-usami

This place was  _pricey,_ Q noted, as he looked around the restaurant. There was a bar in the corner, and the lighting was more a conceptual idea than a useful application. The candles were the only thing that actually allowed him to  _see_  his date. Who just so happened to be James bloody Bond. Q had already spent the day squirming with anticipation, for once willing his work day over, as he desperately tried to think of an outfit that did not involve knitwear.

In the end he had settled for shirt and dark jeans, and even now he felt underdressed. Then again, when one was dining with the best-dressed man in Britain, it was hard not to. Bond had almost single-handedly reinvented the black tie; he was able to swan around in full suit and dress shirt whatever the occasion. Lucky bastard.

He was now throwing his jacket over the back of the chair in a casual, debonair manner that Q had no hope whatsoever of imitating given his non-existent aim and tendency to knock things over, and smiling in a way that was slightly sexualised and was practically accompanied by an emphatic purr of voice or something or other.

 _I’m doomed_ , Q thought to himself, and tried to sit in his chair without breaking anything.

“Drinks first?” Bond asked, as Q was offered a menu.

Q smirked, Bond chuckling himself. “Shaken, not stirred?”

“Of course. And you?” Bond asked, shifting in his seat a little in a way that made Q almost blush at the sight.

“I…” he looked down at the list. Not only were the cocktails ridiculously overpriced, but he didn’t recognise more than about two. “What would you recommend?”

“Hmm,” Bond purred, looking from the list to Q. “Fruity? Or creamy?”

Q blinked. Glanced back over the list. “Anything catatonically sweet?” he asked optimistically, as Bond laughed again; he glanced through the list, nodded to himself, and called over the waiter.

“Martini – shaken, not stirred,” he said, glancing briefly at Q, making the younger man snort again. “And a Hurricane.”

“Tempting fate,” Q quipped lightly.

Bond grinned. “My job, isn’t it?” he asked, as the waiter nodded, scurrying away into the dark depths of the bar.

“Not if you ever bothered to follow your mission brief,” Q muttered, absentmindedly watching the waiter pour various coloured substances into a shaker, throwing it about elaborately.

Bond speared one of the olives, waiting happily in a small bowl in front of them. “You wound me,” he returned playfully.

“Just once in a while, it would be nice not to have to worry for your existence.”

A small wink, Bond playing with a toothpick. “Nice to know you care,” he grinned. Q managed to blush very slightly, Bond raising an eyebrow but – thankfully – making no comment.

“I do,” Q mumbled back, glancing up briefly. “Care, I mean.”

Bond nodded, pushed the olives towards him. “Good,” he returned lightly, and watched Q like he was the only thing of importance in the world.


	318. Chapter 318

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Love your writing. Can you please do one where Q is James’s little brother. Q is well known for getting onto trouble and James always has to get him out of it. Thanks!!!! :) - anon

“Get off him, oi I said  _off him_ ,” James shoved the larger boy out of the way, barging though the small crowd of lads. His little brother lay curled in the centre, knees in to protect his stomach. James scowled, livid, he turned on the surrounding boys and one by one they all fell. Some put up a bit of a fight, but James was bigger than most of them and mummy had been letting him learn karate. Not that it really helped, he mainly aimed for knees and delicates until the rest of them ran.

James wiped his bloody nose, looking down at the battered form of his baby brother. The boy was still shivering as James extended a hand down, half lifting him off the floor and dusting him off.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, as the younger boy adjusted his glasses. “I won’t always be there to protect you, you know.”

“Of course you will,” his brother replied, blinking to try and clear his unbattered eye. “Mummy said so.”

“Of course she did.”

-

“Q? Q, are you sleeping in your office again?”

Q let out an eloquent, irritated groan. “Piss off, James, I’m your senior officer and I’m _trying_  to sleep so  _please fuck off_ ,” he whined, twisting on the camp bed to shoot his brother a foggily acerbic look, and toppling off the edge.

Of course, hands were helping him up a second later. “You’re working too hard,” Bond told him lightly, handing Q his glasses while the younger man tried to extricate his various limbs from the tangled blankets and actually sit back on the bed itself.

The moment Q had full vision, his expression whitened. “James?” he asked softly. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bond assured him, adjusting Q’s glasses on his nose and moving some of the more errant strands of hair from his face. Q looked properly now, noting the bruising and cut lip.

“What happened?” Q asked, as he manoeuvred Bond down to his office chair. He flicked the kettle on, two mugs placed out.

“She’s dead.” Bond managed, head in his hands.

Q breathed out, heart feeling like it had literally stopped beating. “What?” he asked, blankly. “ _Who_?”

“Vesper, she… she was…” Bond halted, took a breath, fixed an expression in place. “A double agent, it seems. She nearly killed me, could have destroyed a lot of what we were working for, and…”

It was painful, almost agonising for Q to listen to; Bond had loved Vesper, so much. More than anybody could know. Q had watched his brother fall in love, mellow, read his messages from a canal in Venice and laughed to himself. Only James would decide to leave MI6 on a whim, because of a girl.

Bond tilted forwards, and Q wrapped his arms around his big brother, sighing heavily. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, as James – the strongest person Q had ever, would ever know – started to cry.


	319. Chapter 319

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I really adore your fics. I always make time to read your fics before I go to bed as a form of de stressing. I was wondering if you got the time, could you write about Bond’s mind being altered by an enemy/scientist that releases his primal side. It just so happens Q is the first person he sees after the incident and now he claims Q as his mate. He gets all possessive and territorial on Q in MI6 and would only follow Q’s orders. Thank you! – bonjourjb

“How long until you find a cure?” Q asked as Bond was once again examined by medical.

The med team looked at each other, silently conversing via looks that only doctors can give “Sorry Quartermaster, but it’s like nothing with have ever seen,” Nita, the head surgeon told him, “his testosterone level is well above normal…”

“Oddly enough, that doesn’t surprise me.” Q replied, running a hand through his hair.

Work was becoming impossible with Bond like this. He had returned from a previous mission a little… different. At first, everyone simply assumed he had been rattled, his impulsive nature had overtaken him – the first thing he did was to walk into Q-branch, storm into Q’s office and snog the man senseless.

Q had been less than amused. It wasn’t that 007 was  _unattractive_ ; just that he was a decade older than him, testosterone pumped and distinctly heterosexual. One night stand, possibly – but the man was hanging around, very consistently. After Q had managed to get 007  _off_  him, the rather concerning conversations about  _what in the hell had happened_  began in earnest.

In short: Bond’s neurochemistry had been altered. In a Shakespearean turn of events, he had become utterly besotted with the first creature from MI6 he had any contact with; given the comm. systems, and absolutely no luck, that creature had been his Quartermaster. Bond had hauled himself back to the UK, and now the rest was history.

“There is nothing  _wrong_  with me,” Bond insisted, “now let me off this bloody bed.” He ripped off the remaining monitors and almost dived at Q. He had taken to walking around MI6 with an arm around the Quartermaster’s waist, holding them tightly together. If someone was so much as to brush past Q they would receive a death glare from the agent. On one memorable occasion he had punched another double-oh in the face after they had made a flirtatious joke.

Thankfully the charges were dropped. After all, Bond was hardly his normal self.

Q was inches away from throttling the bloody man. “Bond. I am aware that you are not in your usual state of coherency. However, please  _attempt_  to exercise some self-control, or you will find yourself in a holding cell for the rest of the foreseeable future.”

Bond ignored him outright, or so it appeared. Q had him locked away in a holding cell.

It took exactly two and a half hours before Bond reappeared by Q’s side. “Bond. Sit down, over there, and  _stay there_ , until I tell you to move,” Q hissed at him.

To his absolute  _shock_ , the agent did what he was told. To the letter.

Q was almost too amazed to speak. He sat at his desk, deciding to test the theory. Half an hour (and a lot of work done later) and Bond still hadn’t moved.

“007?” Q said slowly, the agent’s head snapping up as though someone had rebooted him. “Are you… alright?”

“Absolutely,” Bond told him, looking a little confused. “Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t moved. In half an hour you haven’t even twitched,” Q replied, raising an eyebrow.

Bond frowned, trying to work out quite what Q was misunderstanding. “You told me not to move so… I didn’t.”

“I told you to exercise some self control earlier, you didn’t bloody do that!” Q pointed out, looking at Bond with mild despair.

“You asked me to,” Bond shrugged. “And you weren’t exactly specific.”

Q looked heavenward, sighing out elaborately.

Abruptly, it became very obvious. “Bond, stand up,” Q said, expression calculating; like a Jack-in-a-box, Bond was standing. “Sit down,” he tried, and – lo and behold – the agent sat.

Q resisted a smirk, and called Medical. “You know we were worried about a cure for 007?” he asked lightly, listening to Nita’s answer with amused dispassion. “Well. I wouldn’t worry too much. A day or two’s delay wouldn’t be upsetting, shall we say.”

Bond, at the opposite end of the room, raised an eyebrow.

Q grinned.


	320. Chapter 320

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I adore your fills and I’d like to prompt one. Estabilished 00Q, Q starts seeing a psychologist (not because of past abuse, just because of how he is, caring and emphatic) and Bond scoffs at him, but in the end becomes supportive. Thanks. - badpostureskinnyankle

Q watched the wall. It was fairly dull, with a non-descript picture hanging half way up. He dimly found himself wondering if it was meant to be some kind of test, a Rorschach blot or equivalent sort of thing.

Naturally, the moment this thought crossed his mind, he immediately started to see a penis. Oh joy.

He turned his attention back to the other person in the room, and finally started talking.

“I’m not here to talk about my past,” he began simply. The woman raised her eyebrows, but thankfully said nothing. “I just needed a place to… vent. I suppose. There is no diagnosable disorder, nothing to be concerned about; I merely need space, and an opportunity to reorganise in the presence of an impassive observer.”

To her absolute credit, the woman didn’t blink. “Not a problem,” she nodded. “I can understand that.”

Q took a breath, considering his next sentence.

"I work in a job that requires constant decision, with minimal time for thought on the consequences," he continued, looking once again at the painting and trying to un-see the penis.  “After a certain point…”

When he left her office, Bond was waiting on a surprisingly comfortable-looking chair, with a book. He had insisted on accompanying Q, muttering something darkly about being supportive.

"Any good?" he asked, looking intently at Q for signs of tears, anger, anything.

In its place he found an odd sort of calm. Q merely shrugged, unsure how to answer; he felt strangely empty, it wasn’t exactly easy to describe.

Bond watched with quiet concern, unsure of what to do. “Home?” he suggested. Q glanced at him, nodded a little, and slid his hand into Bond’s.

After a while, it became routine. Once every two weeks they would drive over, Bond would wait outside with a book and Q would spend an hour just talking. It did wonders for Bond’s reading skills if nothing else. Sometimes he would come out in tears, Bond hastily fussing over him, only to be batted away - or on occasion held so tightly Q seemed to be aiming to crush ribs.

"Does it help?" Bond asked curiously, unable to quite understand; he had never liked or trusted psychs, could not imagine passing his thoughts to a third party in that manner.

Q smiled a lopsided smile. “I haven’t committed homicide yet, so let’s assume it helps,” he quipped. “Like it?” he asked, nodding at Bond’s book.

Bond looked down to his lap; ‘ _The Complete Sherlock Holmes_ ' lay there, well thumbed. “Yes, actually,” Bond smirked, standing, kissing the top of Q's head.

"Told you reading wasn’t so awful," Q grinned, happy to allow his partner to hold him.


	321. Chapter 321

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That last prompt, with the werefox!Q, I don’t know why but I found it adorable. I guess just thinking of fox!Q. I really like foxes, foxes are clever creatures but also mischievous, which I think really fits Q. As for Bond, you really like Bond with eagles don’t you? :’D And I never request things ever because idk.. but, you think you could write a second part where after some time Bond earns enough of Q’s trust and Q transforms for him? – skylocked

Bond sat behind what amounted to his desk. The double-ohs didn’t have a branch, or offices as such, but there was the Rec Room and that had to do. There were a few showers for clean up, even a couple of sofa beds. There was also a side section with desks and computers for paperwork. Many new recruits assumed that ‘Rec’ was simply short for ‘Recreational’, as indeed it had originally been. It was however, now referred to as the ‘Wreck Room’, the place that agents went after missions to break down.

It had all gone wrong. Someone, somewhere had made the wrong call and now just under thirty children were dead – with five still missing. Bond was not one for tears, he just sat, thinking.

Everybody left the Wreck Room alone, while it was occupied. Other agents would occasionally filter in, mainly because they were the only ones who could possibly understand, or have any idea how to respond.

Bond sat with his head in his hands, eyes closed.

Something brushed his leg.

The immediate instinct was born of adrenaline and anger and pain, the urge to lash out and destroy; the fox, currently sitting quite placidly by his ankles, didn’t flinch. It simply looked up at him with an indecipherable expression, and waited until he had calmed down enough to jump on his lap.

Bond was too disconnected to even be surprised. Once the knee-jerk reaction faded, he was left as silent as before. Words were not an option at the moment. The fox sat quite calmly, warm body an odd comfort. Bond reached down, stroking the creature just between the ears.

“It’s my fault,” he managed eventually, speaking to the world at last.

The animal did not contradict him, or indeed do anything other than to move to a better position to hear; his head nuzzled slightly against Bond’s abdomen, and he settled easily enough. Bond sighed, speaking in fractured sentences, hands seeking the fox’s body and gently stroking along the spine, bestowing comfort as much as receiving it.

Bond smiled slightly, when his stories were worn out, when the pain had receded enough to understand. “You hate changing,” he murmured to the fox, a forefinger eloquently tracing the top of the little animal’s head. The fox tilted its head a little, in what Bond liked to imagine was its equivalent of a shrug. “You’re beautiful though,” he murmured, stroking a hand along its spine. “Truly, beautiful.”

The fox turned to look at him, placing a paw either side of Bond’s neck, he nuzzled against his cheek, allowing Bond’s arms to encircle him in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered against the amber coat.

Then it was gone.

-

It was a few minutes before Q noticed it.

He had reached for his tea and found in its place something quite different.

A large feather, golden and eloquent, in the centre of his desk.

The young Quartermaster smiled to himself for a moment, running the delicate strands over in his hands, before placing it carefully into his pocket and returning to work.


	322. Chapter 322

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recently watched Disney’s AristoCats and now I want to read a 00Q fic where both Bond and Q are cats. If you don’t mind, can you write one where Bond is an alley cat who sometimes stops by M’s home for free food and Q is a pure breed cat that M recently bought for company or something. – anon

“Oh, aren’t you the most gorgeous thing…”

Q looked up, licking his nose as his owner plucked him off the floor.

“Mummy needs to go out of a bit darling,” the woman told him, staring into the green eyes and making Q nose wrinkle. “Work calls.”

Q padded the air for a moment as she hugged him, conceding that pudging her probably wouldn’t be as profitable as all that; it would reduce his chances of acquiring Sheba. Since starting on real cat food (not that stupid ‘kitten’ nonsense) he had developed a liking for the nice stuff and normally found that, if he was well behaved, he would find his bowl full of sweet goodies at the end of the day.

Pudging meant dried food. Not even cats like eating cardboard.

Consequently, Q remained relatively docile, and purred like a steam train while anywhere near his owner. She petted him sweetly, tickled him behind the ear, and swept through the door in a cloud of conversation into her mobile; there were several active running missions, and she was needed on all of them.

-

In MI6, bets were flying everywhere. “Twenty minutes,” called R from the sidelines, swapping handwritten pieces of paper with other Q-branch members. The double-ohs had joined the sweepstake, Alec Trevelyan getting particularly emphatic that it would take at least an hour.

Q and Bond sat, utterly silent, jaws identically tight.

M, in her infinite wisdom, had decided to acquire a cat – and name it Q.

This would have been vaguely irritating, and perhaps amusing, were it not for the fact that she had nicknamed a tomcat that inhabited her neighbourhood a long while previously ‘007’. Nobody would have known, were it not for 007 regularly tripping her security systems; she had calmly announced her nickname, Bond had smirked and acted very flattered, and then Q had arrived.

Now, the cats were – essentially – on the brink of copulating. 007 would wait until M had gone to work, before slipping in through the back catflap, aided and abetted by Q’s feline counterpart.

Everybody in MI6 knew, and the bets were on as to how long it would be before 007 arrived that morning, while everybody watched on various surveillance systems.

The human versions were slightly less than impressed.

-

Q had disliked him originally. 007 was a mongrel, and a piece of his ear was missing – not a good look. Q had first caught him attempting to steal from his food bowl and lashed out. Unfortunately, 007 was about twice his size. Q mewled helplessly as 007 threw him off and continued to eat.

It wasn’t the most promising of starts.

After a while, however, Q got used to the strange creature that lurked in the hallways. It helped that 007 would sometimes bring him dead birds to munch on. The larger cat had taken on the irritating habit of rubbing up against him, marking out his territory. Q would try to shake him off, only to be picked up by the scruff of the neck and carried outside.

The cleaning was gratefully received though, and Q liked nothing better than to lie down in the sun as 007 licked along his ears, de-bugging him. They developed a sort of routine; the owner would leave food before heading out, then Bond would appear about half an hour later. Q would allow him to eat half of the food, before nuzzling him away.

Today was a little different.

-

Q-branch had the kindness to switch off the monitors when 007 and feline-Q began doing ungodly things to one another in the middle of M’s kitchen floor.

-

R won twenty quid off Trevelyan, and another ten each off 001 and 002.

-

M pretended to remain blissfully oblivious – while ensuring nobody was unprofessional or invaded her privacy – while watching with genuine amusement. Mostly because everybody in MI6 had unanimously missed one, rather important, point about the pair of cats that were gradually attempting to destroy her kitchen.

-

It was with great delight, two months later, that she was able to announce to Q-branch that her cat had fallen pregnant.


	323. Chapter 323

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea for an 00Q fic - or rather my friend Amber and I did…Bond does something to piss Q off, Q casually cuts off all of Bond’s MI6-issued credit cards, and poor 007 has to spend the day navigating public transportation. (I use public transit so this is hilarious and relatable for me.) Hilarity ensues. – restlesslyaspiring

The metro. An interesting excuse for a paper. Bond looked over it, rolling his eyes at the sight of some Scottish bloke with a tennis racket.

A moment later, a large Italian man stood directly in front of him, large rear directly in Bond’s face. The agent felt his fingers twitch for his Walther, as the man began speaking across to his friend on the other side of the Tube, the loudest man by a long margin by virtue of not conforming to the London standard of  _studio silence_  while on one’s work commute.

Honestly, the Tube is tenable in the middle of the night. The drunks and teenagers and theatre goers appear about ten-ish, and then there is genuine conversation and a little more life (unless you’re on the far end of the Distinct/Circle line, in which case being on a Tube in the middle of the night is occasionally a somewhat scary experience).

Bond, however, was attempting to travel at half seven on a Monday morning.

He didn’t stand a chance.

Bond had already thought of twelve creative ways to destroy his Quartermaster, three of which were legal and only one tenable. Q would argue that it had been Bond that started it, after losing not only his equipment, but almost managing to destroy the latest gun Q had been working on for 006, Q had taken affirmative action.

He had cut the cards.

As an active agent, Bond was issued with various credit cards to cover his costs. The salary was really just a bonus. This normally meant he was entitled to a private car when travelling across London. Public transport was apparently for lesser beings. Q, a lifelong user of such atrocities, had hoped it would teach Bond a little humility. As it stood, all it was teaching him was a great deal of sympathy for anyone wanting to blow up the Northern Line.

Of course, the Bakerloo line had delays. Everybody in London has a dim awareness of the irregularity of the Bakerloo line, especially when it is actually  _needed_  by a large number of people, which consequently places an ungodly amount of strain on the other Tube lines which tend to be pretty crammed to start off with.

Bond extracted himself from beneath Italian man’s arse, and moved in the general flood of other humans towards the exit.

He had been reliably informed that he needed to get off the Tube at Bank.

What he had  _not_  been informed was that Bank has an inhuman number of exits, and is technically conjoined with Monument, has more different tube lines running through it then should feasibly exist in that space, and stairs. Lots of stairs. And, in rush hour, _infinite_  numbers of people.

“Excuse… sorry can I just… I’m trying to…” he was muttering, trying to subtly by pass the throng of commuters. “Oh, fuck this.”

He drew his gun, placed it out in front of him and rushed, knocking people out the way as he went. People cleared fairly quickly after that.

-

“So how was your trip in, 007?” Q asked, as Bond left M’s office. The reprimand had been an incredibly vocal one. Bond looked at him, considered instigating option eleven, before turning around.

He would get him when the little shit least expected it.


	324. Chapter 324

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Um so I’ve been reading your work for a long time and it makes my day when I see it! And, I has a prompt for you! James has been having some pretty bad nightmares (about Q killing himself/dying), bad enough to keep him up at night. And since it’s hard for him to talk about it, it takes some pushing from Q to get the agent to spill. Some comforting fluffy 00Q, please! Thank you so much!! - anon

Q lay in his lover’s arms, Bond clutching him as he might a beloved soft toy. The agent slept notoriously badly, not only fidgeting but downright yelling in his sleep. He would wake up occasionally, groping in the blackness for Q’s body, holding him tight enough to bruise. Other times, Q would awake to find the man shaking, head in hands as he tried to wrench the images from his eyelids.

“James?” he murmured, as Bond began to shift. He was letting out a primal kind of howl, a quite moan of desperation as he clung to Q. “James,” Q tried, a little louder, trying to wake the man from his fears.

Bond moved fast enough to near knock Q over; he scrambled back a bit, eternally wary of Bond’s unbelievable strength, waiting for his partner to come back to reality. “Are you alright?” Q asked softly; Bond glanced him over, with a raw desperation that took Q’s breath away. “ _James_ , this keeps happening. What on earth do you keep dreaming?”

“Nothing,” Bond replied roughly, lying. Very badly, as it happened, which was relatively unusual for him; Q raised an eyebrow in transparent scepticism, and Bond quickly changed tack. “I don’t remember.”

“Liar,” Q told him simply, allowing himself to be pulled back into a tight embrace. Bond’s skin was soft and slightly slick with sweat against Q’s own as they readjusted.

“It’s nothing,” Bond told him, kissing Q firmly as his arms encircled the young man. “Really, Q.”

Q looked up at him through bed-messed curls, green eyes gazing into Bond’s own. “I am sorry, but I just don’t believe that,” he murmured apologetically, squeezing Bond’s hand. “Tell me. Just… what do you think I’ll say? I’m  _worried_  about you, there’s nothing so awful that your subconscious could throw up…”

“Don’t underestimate that Q,” Bond told him bitterly. “I’ve worked for MI6 for a long time…”

“And in that time you have never looked this shattered.” Q told him firmly, tracing the dark circles under Bond’s eyes. “Is it me? God James, are you worried about us?” he asked, feeling a slight note of panic rising within him,  _terrified_  that some part of his lover regretted them being together, resented it,  _hated_  it…

“No, no god no.” Bond told him swiftly. “It’s not… it’s you, but not because I’m doubting you, or us or any of this.” Bond continued, clasping Q’s fingers with his own and kissing the entwined links.

“Just about me then?” Q asked, probing further. “Have I done something wrong?”

Bond breathed out slowly, grasping at some form of self-control. “No,” he said eventually, a little too belated to be entirely comforting. Q remained on edge, tracing Bond’s face, anxious and a little frightened. “Q, it’s pathetic.”

Q shrugged. “So?” he asked lightly. “Many things are. I’m scared of flying, I fucking _hate_  anything with more than four legs – that’s relatively pathetic, in the scheme of things. So go on. I won’t love you any less.”

“I’m terrified of losing you,” Bond said clearly, simply.

Q found himself silenced for moment, of all the things he thought he would hear from James Bond that was very low on the list. It was almost flattering, oddly reassuring to think he held that much of a place in the man’s life. That he was that important to his happiness. He reached out once again, holding James’s head, feeling the man tilt into it. “It’s not pathetic.” Q whispered, feeling almost overwhelmed by how important he was, wishing he knew how to heal that type of fear.

Bond was almost flippant, calm. “I can’t watch you die.”

“I can’t promise I won’t,” Q admitted, smiling slightly, hand tightly in Bond’s still. “But I’ll try very, very hard not to. If it helps, I don’t ever want to lose you either. Not to anything. But James, we have  _now_. That has to be enough. We’re bloody MI6 agents, after all, we’re not made for longevity.”

“You should be,” Bond murmured, kissing the top of Q’s head. “You’re only… god Q, this job it destroys people. I don’t think I could… if you died…” he trailed off.

“You would keep going. You will be fine.” Q told him, speaking into the man’s chest. “You will live, you will be happy, be sad. You are strong.”

There was nothing to say, nothing to be done.

Bond allowed himself to be weaker, for a moment. He rested in Q’s arms, the younger man holding him carefully, closely, until he could finally sleep.


	325. Chapter 325

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all know Bond does a lot of damage to his suits on missions, but what if his salary/MI6 doesn’t cover them like people think it does? James has a secret deal with his tailor, but it’s not menswear he designs… the shop has a ladies couture attachment. Q finds his sketchbook. Crack or feels, you decide :D ~~~~*stares at the prompt* thinks… JFC, but what the heck did you just write in this box?!? At least it’s not ASDA this time ;) *hits submit and runs away* - catonspeedland

They were truly beautiful sketches, Q had to concede it. Nothing too original, simply clothing designed to make women look good. This was a designer that knew women, knew their bodies, their likes and dislikes, shapes and sizes. They had an excellent eye for subtle colours and the evening wear was something truly special.

This designer was James Bond.

Q shook his head in mute disbelief, scanning through pages and pages of designs; the suits were predictably lovely, and Q stared at one of the slim-fits with the mounting realisation that he actually  _wanted_  the damn thing.

“It started just as a favour, supplementing my income a little.”

Q almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the agent’s voice. “Bond? God, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to…”

Bond smirked, leaning forward over Q to indicate the precise suit Q had been coveting. “That would be best for your shape,” he noted, glancing back down at his Quartermaster, eyes bright with amusement.

“It’s a girl’s suit,” Q replied. He was sure what annoyed him most, the fact that Bond had suggested it, or that it would genuinely suit him.

“Not fully formed concept yet,” Bond shrugged. “Have a look at the back.”

Q nodded, turning to the back of the sketch book, past page of concepts and clippings. In the back were suits. Every colour, shade and design. Bond reached forward and turned a page over Q’s shoulder and the Quartermaster’s eyes widened with shock. “That’s…”

“You’re a joy to design clothing for,” Bond shrugged, as he looked over the double page. In the top corner was a small personnel photo of Q – for the colour pallet, Bond explained a moment later. Covering the pages were some of the most beautiful clothes Q had ever seen. Suits, shirts, trousers, even a few jackets and coats. “Androgynous body type, but still striking.”  

Q’s mouth opened, closed again. Stupidly: “Androgynous?” he asked weakly, before trailing off. “I… James, I don’t understand.”

“You’re an attractive man, Q,” Bond shrugged unapologetically. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I’m flattered,” Q returned quickly, “I mean… I’d actually like to  _wear_  some of this stuff,” he continued honestly, fingers trailing over the page as he tried not to blush.

Q lost the battle when he realised how  _close_  Bond was, his body inches away. “I’ll have a word with my tailor, if there is something you want made?”

“I’ll have a think,” Q replied, closing the book. “Could I get a photocopy, to look at I mean?”

“Certainly,” Bond smiled, blue eyes bright, and held Q’s gaze until the younger man broke off, with an odd flush staining his cheeks.


	326. Chapter 326

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Reality issues.” I don’t really care about what character. (I’m partial to your 00Q, but I’m not picky.) Reality issues, as in, character has had (or maybe sometimes still has) psychotic symptoms/episodes, delusions, struggles to keep hold on reality.

Q breathed irregularly, trying to find something to focus on, some form of stabiliser to make everything even again. At present, everything was tilted to either side, which was definitely not conducive to a good workday.

Raspberry syrup was coating his tongue, and refused to go away, along with the pressure that was squeezing his ribs inwards, making it very difficult to breathe.

“Q?”

Of course.

Bond’s hand was hot, too hot. Scalding, in fact. “Just stop, stop a second,” Q mumbled, pleaded, words dribbling out of his mouth away with the syrup, too much, and the bloody syrup was drowning him, was trickling into his throat, forming a skein over his lungs, and the pressure was unbearable and he was choking, throttled, whimpering as he tried to claw off whatever was pressing into, against, inside his skin, again and again.

“Breathe,” Bond told him, quite calmly. “Q, listen to me. What are you feeling?”

“It’s choking me,” he sobbed, fingers clawing at his throat. “I can’t…”

Bond didn’t touch him, didn’t try to interfere. “Q, tell me where you are.”

“I don’t…”

Calm, voice of reason. “Yes, you do. Open your eyes for me, Q, you can do that.”

Q could hear whimpering, somewhere, possibly, and the light was too bright and would burn his eyes, he would go blind if he opened his eyes. “I can’t, please,  _please_ , I can’t…”

“Q, you’re doing really well. I know you can do this.”

It took all the effort Q had in him, but he managed to force his eyes to open.

Bright, yes, but not painfully so, not horribly so. Shaded a little, in fact, and everything was there and in place, everything he expected, his desk silhouetted, desk light angled to the left, and Bond, James Bond, lit by it. “My office?” Q asked softly, tremulously. “James?”

Bond smiled openly, honestly. “Thank god,” he said softly, with the pain of somebody who had not been recognised too many times previously. “Yes. James. Your MI6 office. You’re alright, Q.”

Q nodded as best he could, crying despite himself. “I know, I know it’s not… but I just, I can’t stop it…”

“Can I touch you?” Bond asked simply.

For a moment, Q simply didn’t know.

A little, almost questioning nod.

Bond’s hand reached out, and Q flinched, and then relaxed utterly. “I fucking hate this,” he breathed, staring at his office ceiling, Bond’s hand careful on his shoulder, gently stroking upwards towards his face, and there was  _still_  unbearable sweetness on his tongue. “Hate it.”

Lips traced his skin, and they are warm, but do not burn any more. “I know,” Bond told him softly, gently. “I know.”


	327. Chapter 327

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about a prompt where Bond and Q are university students having sex in the library? Thanks for all your lovely writing! :) – anon

It was Q’s first year. Computer Science, and he was taking it a full two years early.

So, at sixteen, he was hardly going to fit in. Too young to drink, too young to drive; the library became was a safe haven. Q would settle amongst the bookshelves, curled in the surprisingly comfortable chairs that littered the room, skulking in his laptop or a genuine book. The librarian didn’t mind; she took on an almost motherly role and more than once did Q find a cup of tea waiting for him in his favourite spot, along with book recommendations.

James Bond had already been recruited into the less salubrious portents of MI6; his final year was simply finishing up the paperwork. He spent a decent amount of time in the library himself, given that he had too many extra-curricular ventures to risk outright socialisation.

And anyway, there was the boy in the library. The quiet, bespectacled boy in the corner, who rarely spoke, simply curled up and seemed perfectly content with himself and his ability to disappear. Bond had struck up a dialogue several weeks previously, learnt that he went by Q, and ensured that both parties knew that he was attracted.

Q, for his part, could barely stop the blush that rose from seemingly the base of his spine whenever Bond spoke to him. Bond was  _attractive_. More than that, he was a full _five years_  older than Q, and simply stunning. Swimmer, runner and god only knew what else, Bond was chiselled and blond and in the prime of his life.

Q still wore a retainer. He was anaemic, skinny, and puberty seemed to have barely graced him with her shimmering touch. It just didn’t make sense.

“What do you get up to on that thing?” Bond asked lightly, making Q jump nearly out of his skin.

Q jumped violently, looking up to see Bond smirking. “Jesus! You should really warn people before you sneak up on them! Or wear a bloody bell.”

"If you were anyone else, that reaction would mean it was probably porn," Bond teased, taking the seat opposite.

Q blinked, ears flushing pink despite his best efforts. “I…” he stuttered, before flapping helplessly. “Not… not porn, I was… I shouldn’t be, but I was… erm… sorry. Sorry. How’re you, anyway?”

"Fine," Bond shrugged, still smirking at Q’s reaction. "Yeah, all good. Too cold for rowing, so I thought I would play inside."

Rowing. Of course. “Well, do come and warm up,” Q offered, still blushing as Bond threw his bag to one side, leaning over a little to glance at Q’s laptop.

"Is that a blog?"

Q shut down the window with absolutely blinding speed. “It’s nothing.”

"Alright then," Bond held up his hands in defeat before they both settled into silence. After a few moments Bond spoke again, "I was wondering if you would like to get drinks with me sometime?" he asked, casually.

Q tried not to make any odd squeaking noises, and answer with decorum. “That would be nice,” he nodded, trying to shift his laptop slightly.

Bond noticed and raised his eyebrows, his smirk outright mocking. “I’m flattered; didn’t know I had such an effect,” he teased, moving a little closer into Q’s personal space, eyes darting down to the other boy’s groin.

It was Q’s turn to smirk as Bond breathed against his ear. “Who said this was to do with you?” he commented, as Bond looked up to him, confused.

"…Were you watching porn?" he asked suspiciously, taking in Q’s flushed face and tented trousers, the delicate beauty of this young man. Young, but frighteningly mature, and more intelligent than Bond wanted to think on.

"No, not as such," Q told him, very aware of how close the man was, how late the time was and how empty the library was likely to be; the librarian had vanished, as was her wont, letting Q close everything up.

"Then what has got you so hot and bothered?" Bond asked, practically panting in the young man’s ear.

Q let out a little shiver, Bond’s breath hot and his groin aching. “I…” he reached for the mouse, missed, tried again, brought up the window. “I, erm…”

Bond looked at the screen, and read through a few lines of text. Re-read. “Well,” he commented lightly. “It’s still technically porn.”

"I just… I enjoy it," Q told him, heavily embarrassed as Bond continued to read over his shoulder. "I know it’s a little…"

"No, this is pretty hot," Bond told him, eyeing the page. "What is it?"

"…Star Trek fanfiction." Q told him, wanting the ground to open.

Bond barely blinked as he scrolled down the page. “You kidding? I love Star Trek.”

Q realised that he was probably staring at the only man of Bond’s calibre who would ever concede to liking Star Trek, and indeed continue  _reading_  fanfiction once it had been brought up in conversation.

“ _Success_ ,” Bond thought smugly, as the younger boy tried for a somewhat sloppy but very enthusiastic kiss.

The laptop was pushed aside carefully as Q was pulled onto Bond’s lap, their bodies pressed tightly together as they kissed, both expending a fair amount of effort into the endeavour; Bond was, thankfully, as aroused as Q was.

Q pulled away suddenly, panting as Bond reached between them and pressed at Q’s straining zip. “I’ve never… shit, James I’m only…”

“Only what?” Bond asked, rubbing a finger along the seam, making Q whimper.

"I’m sixteen. I’m only, I can’t even go out for drinks…" Q confessed, fully prepared for Bond to shove him off.

Bond didn’t. He slowed, certainly, but didn’t even pretend to stop. “Do you want to wait?” he asked softly, with a lover’s voice, a caress of teeth and lips. “Do you not want to?”

"Right now?" Q swallowed. "Right now I want you too badly to even think," he confessed. Bond nodded, unzipping Q’s flies and hand reaching for Q’s cock.

"Then honestly? I can think for both of us," Bond told him, kissing Q firmly and smiling at the gasp he got in return.


	328. Chapter 328

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luuuuuv your writing so much! Thanks for keep filling prompts, I am sure there are lots of them. If you have time, please? conspiracy theory: 007 and Mallory actually work together to get rid of Judi!M, using everyone including Silva, so that Mallory can be M. Q found out later on (maybe also thinks their relationship is fake?) it’s up to you! – anon

Q sat at his laptop, reading over the files. It was impossible. It must be a ploy, it had to be.

He continued to read through the emails, hacked off Mallory’s computer. Emails between Mallory and Bond, Mallory and Silva,  _everyone_. Well, it explained how the bastard managed to get into Q’s system; Mallory practically handed him a key. People had  _died_ , and all of it had been stage-managed by those Q was supposed to be working for.

And  _James_.

It had to be a trick, Q told himself, as his lover’s name peppered the inbox.

"Q?" Bond called as he opened the door. "Why are the lights off?"

Q looked up sharply, aware that he had been reading these since dusk.

Everything seemed to have closed in on itself. Q had believed himself responsible, at least in part, for the death of a woman he respected and admired. He had been complicit, again, in stage-managing the death of an ex-agent who had supposedly gone insane; now, it appeared, he had simply been a puppet. His mistakes were not his own, and Bond had been a player, had lied with the best of them.

And now he had to face him. Q inhaled deeply. It could all be a lie, a concoction of Silva’s addled brain to mess with him. He had to at least ask.

"Q?" Bond called again, coming into the bedroom. "Love? Are you alright?" he asked, toeing off his shoes and crawling onto the bed where Q sat. "Have you eaten?"

Q blinked at him, wondering how in the hell to construct sentences under the circumstances. “Yes,” he replied, proud of that, at least. He didn’t say another word, watching Bond, wondering how much of this was hollow. Everything else had been, everything had been a lie.

"What’s happened?" Bond asked suddenly, turning on the bedside light to look at Q properly. Q blinked, the sharp light almost blinding him against his glowing screens.

Q had no idea how to respond. He looked at Bond, his James, in slight horrified wonder. “Did you kill her?” he asked softly.

"Who?" Bond asked, looking genuinely confused. Q wanted to  _throw_  something, wanted to hit out and scream and ask  _why_ , why Bond had felt it necessary and why Q had been  _used_  in the process.

"Did you?" He repeated, hands white on his keyboard. "M? Did you kill her?"

Bond fell silent, looking from Q to the laptop. “What have you been looking at?” he asked quietly.

Q was struck, briefly, with the understanding that this could well be it. They had already murdered M, and he could be next, Bond could simply lash out and kill him too. “No. You don’t get questions,” Q snapped with more strength than he felt, hands trembling a little. “You talk to me,  _now_. Fuck, after everything… you made this happen, you manipulated everything to kill her by proxy. And then presumably, Silva, so it never got out. Did Silva know you’d kill him? Are you going to kill me? I just… I don’t even know where to fucking  _start_.”

Bond didn’t speak for a few moments, simply looked at Q with a strange, deadpan expression.

"No Q, I am not goin to kill you. Despite whatever you may believe, I do love you. A great deal," he said slowly, not daring to touch his partner.

Q wet his lips briefly, head spinning. “Am I supposed to believe that?” he asked softly, hating the encroaching crack in his voice. “You’ve lied about  _everything_  else.”

“Not everything Q,” Bond assured him. “And believe me, she lied a lot more to you than I ever did. As for Silva, he knew the risks - he was more than willing to take them. We all knew the risks.”

Breathless, Q tried to make thoughts cohere. “And me?” he asked, the crack turning wider, swallowing him. “What was I, in all this? Boothroyd, he died, I became Q because of a bomb that wiped out  _half my branch_ , and I cared about those people, they were innocent fucking people. Or collateral damage, I suppose, which again means I’m just… I’m there for as long as I’m useful, yes?”

“No Q,” Bond snapped suddenly. “That was never… he needed to go. They worked together on so much, he was too close to her. The rest weren’t meant to be there - training day remember? That’s why you weren’t in the building,”

"They stayed, they loved their work, they were busy so they stayed and so they died," Q told him, shaking with anger. "And why? What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"She had to go Q," Bond told him, trying to avoid anger himself. "Her view of the world was old fashioned, people were dying and you know her - she wanted to go out with a bang. She was offered retirement…"

"And would you go?" Q laughed. "She fought for you, people like you - the double-ohs,"

"And she died protecting what she believed in - I’m still in a job aren’t I?" Bond snapped, rubbing his temples.

"Is this truly all about you? So you could keep going, keep getting that rush?" Q accused, close to  _punching_  the damn man.

Bond rolled his eyes, “No Q, of course it isn’t. I cared about her, I really did…”

"But then she had you killed? Didn’t see you as the grudge type," Q snarled, moving actively away from the man.

"It wasn’t about that, she was a danger Q!" Bond told him, following his passage across the bed. "This was the only way to keep England safe - to keep you safe."

"Don’t throw that at me," Q spat. "You didn’t even know me."

"No. But now? Now I do know you? I would do it again in a heartbeat. You would have been disposable. We all would have. There was no damn accountability, responsibility. You could have been killed and no one would have batted an eyelid. We can’t live like that anymore, destroying half the bloody world."

"No responsibility? Like my branch - no one responsible there," Q pointed out. "Just a disposable villain. Who even was he?"

"A man with a grudge," Bond shrugged. "The deal when he was handed over was illegal, though no one looked at it. He wanted revenge, we just… let him."

"You put so many people at risk, those agents…" Q said, thinking of the men and women dead across the world.

"He agreed not to release more than a certain number, most of the rest were already compromised," Bond assured him. "We did what we had to, Q,"

“Get out.” Q told him, pointing to the door. “ _Out_!” he yelled, as Bond shut his eyes.

"I’ll see you soon Q," he promised.

Q let out a strangled half-laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, James. You won’t.”


	329. Chapter 329

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need Tanner walking in on Q fucking Bond on his desk. And by ‘his’ I men ‘Tanner’s’ (pwetty pwlease?) – anon

“Fuck,  _fuck_  Q, more…”

Tanner really, truly was having an appalling day. ‘Chief of Staff’ was a relatively impressionistic title, and de facto covered organising near enough everything, handling every single person in the MI6 building, being a general yes-man unless his morals were bent too far in the wrong direction, and having everybody in the right place at the right time. Blissfully, Moneypenny had taken hold of many of his duties as right-hand man to M, which had reduced the stress somewhat.

Nevertheless, Tanner handled fuck-ups. Fuck-ups were a constant, running theme. MI6 ran on luck and fuck-ups, which meant it ran on Tanner, and Tanner depended on his office and the time spent in his office, where his paperwork remained in neat stacks and he had a decent computer.

Of course, that was tragically optimistic.

Tanner had informed the Quartermaster that sexual relations were not to happen in his office. Q’s office was supposed to be a place where one could find the Quartermaster ready to work, not busy engaging in ungodly acts behind the desk while the Q-branch kids stood around looking deeply uncomfortable with everything.

Of course, Q – and 007, the single most obnoxious agent in MI6 history – had taken it upon themselves to find alternate locations.

Really, Tanner was expecting to be in the office til gone midnight. There were about forty phonecalls to be made, and M needed updates on a number of pending missions. Tanner was depending on Q, actually, to have everything on his desk.

Possibly, the information  _was_  on his desk.

But then, so were Q and 007, so the point was moot.

“When you’re done, M’s office,” he said sharply, sighing to himself, and shutting the door behind him. He pushed it open again. “By the way, if there is anything unmentionable anywhere in this office, you’re cleaning it yourselves.”

Before they could answer – or Tanner could see anything – he shut the door again.

They could fix everything themselves, Tanner mused, and wondered if MI6 would fall if he took the rest of the day off.


	330. Chapter 330

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Ben winning a BAFTA: Q wins a prestigious award but doesn’t tell anyone. When Bond finds out, he tries to downplay it, and Bond has to basically drag Q to the ceremony. – thewinterwidow

It was Eve who told him, in the end. Not out of malice, simply because she was going to the ceremony and wanted an opinion on her dress, and Bond was always available for acerbic comments on female clothing.

“… and it’s just wonderful for Q, isn’t it?” she said lightly, happily, as Bond’s eyebrows abruptly raised.

Eve looked at him curiously, expression inquisitive. “ _What_  is just wonderful for Q, exactly?” he asked drily, and Eve burst out laughing.

-

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bond demanded, tone somewhere between aggrieved and amused. “This is  _brilliant_ , Q, it’s an incredible achievement…”

“I’m not going,” Q told him flatly, not bothering to even look up from his screens. “I’m not. I refuse. I absolutely and entirely  _refuse_  to go stand on a stage in front of  _n_  number of people and make a speech and… no. Absolutely not, and you can’t make me.”

Really, Q ought to have known that saying  _can’t_  to James Bond was like a red rag to a bull.

“ _Minions, activate_ ,” Bond roared.

Q had enough time to be very, very frightened, before most of his  _branch_  swarmed over him. Bond was cackling – as was R, actually – both at Bond’s method of forcing Q-branch into action, and at Q’s expression. “Don’t do it!” Q yelled. “I won’t…”

His voice was muffled over the various people attacking him with a suit, comb, shoes. Q was forced into becoming a full-size mannequin – albeit one who was throwing death threats at anybody in a ten foot radius – while they forced him into a smart and beautifully tailored suit. “I hate you,” Q told Bond, with anger bubbling, petulant and furious. “I  _hate_  you.”

“You look delightful,” Bond told him approvingly; Q let out a muffled wail. “I’d have a think about your speech.”

Q looked inches away from either homicide, or sobbing.


	331. Chapter 331

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) I was thinking about a prompt maybe where Eve & James goes to a bar and talking, and they saw Q singing, the song that Q sings it’s about James about his feeling or more. And about this, it’s a plan that Q & Eve have planned since a long time. Maybe James is surprised by the song and by Q :) Bbut i just want a happy ending between them :) Thanks a lot :) - tigrasevaddict

Bond had long since given up the idea of actually sleeping with Eve, but drinks were always welcome on a Friday after work. Not that MI6 registered the existence of a ‘weekend’; nevertheless. It was still a nice way to end a Friday.

They were in a local pub, where apparently karaoke was encouraged. The two agents intermittently enjoyed watching drunken men attempting ‘Love Shack’, ‘Waterloo’ and other timeless classics, with varying degrees of tunelessness.

Bond was already comfortably buzzed with alcohol when a young man took the floor. Dark hair curled around his face, glasses a touch lopsided - he straightened them carefully, almost losing the microphone in the process - and Bond’s brain caught up with a dart of shock. He was spluttering so much he missed the few opening bars of the music, just to choke on his drink.

Eve smirked, patting him firmly on the back as they watched the MI6 Quartermaster take to the stage. “ _It’s a little bit funny_ ,” Q began, slightly off on the first note, but forgivable. “ _This feeling inside…_ "

Bond found himself more than a little impressed - Q was  _good_. Not amazing, but a really lovely voice somewhere in there. Bond made a mental note to ask if vocal lessons came along with the ballet (a fact he had all but beaten from Q when they were last pissed).

Bond didn’t really connect the dots, initially. It was only when Q looked at him - directly at  _him_ , like he had been aiming it all along (and had been, Bond realised a heartbeat later) that he realised Q had been skulking somewhere in the bar for god-knew how long, had waited for  _this_.

He turned to Eve, who managed to be incredibly preoccupied with her drink, before looking back to the man on the stage. He really did look stunning; no cardigans, no oversized raincoats. White shirt and black trousers. Simple, elegent. Just how Bond liked things. He was entraced, watching as Q blushed, dropping his gaze a little to continue the song.

“ _… that this is your song…_ ”

Bond was beginning to wonder if sanity was literally slipping from him.

“ _… how wonderful life is…_ ”

Q was hitting on him via song. Eve was barely containing herself. Q had blushed a beautiful, delicate shade of pillar-box red, confidence and blush growing in tandem.

“…  _yours are the sweetest eyes…_ ”

When he was finished, Bond was almost too stunned to clap. The rest of the bar was giving Q an appreciative round of applause, with a few whoops from a loud, very drunk teenage party. “Well,” Eve said sharply, “Go after him, then!”

Q disappeared almost instantly, impressively enough; Bond wound up running out of the pub, into the rain of an autumn in England, grabbing the young man’s wrist and pulling him around.

Really, words seemed superfluous. Bond simply kissed him.


	332. Chapter 332

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens if they actually had each other’s jobs…. Bond is the Quartermaster and Q is the agent. – anon

"007?" Q barked, one hand on his headset, the other on the keyboard in front of him. "007 please report."

"Relax Q, I’m here." 007 told his handle lightly. At his desk, Q sighed, running a hand through his cropped hair.

"And just where the hell have you been?" he asked, locating the agent’s vital signals.

On the other end of the line he heard a soft, almost sarcastic chuckle. “Acquiring information,” the man returned simply.

"What was his name and is he still alive?" Q asked; the man was a menace. It was expected that agents would have sexual relations in the line of duty, but 007 wasn’t normally too bad; not unless they were particularly perfect specimens of the male anatomy.

Q stood, suit carefully arranged over his muscular body; it was always useful, to be ready for any eventuality. Q had been trained in the Army, had SAS experience and field work on side; it made him an invaluable handler, as it happened.

007, meanwhile, was a complete bloody renegade. A child, dark-haired, needed glasses (wore contact lenses, but that was beside the point) and clever with words and guns alike. They admired, adored, and despised one another in equal measure.

"Can’t reveal that Q, either way - I’m on the way to Silva," 007 told him smugly.

Q’s eyes widened, almost comically. “What? 007, don’t do that, don’t even  _think_  about it. He’ll over power you within seconds. He’s got twice your weight and a few inches to spare.”

007’s eyeroll was almost audible. “I may look frail, but I assure you, I am not,” he commented dryly. “I do know what I’m doing, thank you Quartermaster.”

"You have the radio?" Q confirmed, nodding to R as she handed him a double espresso. He downed it and shuddered. Nothing on a beer, but the last thing he needed was another ‘talk’ about rehab and alcohol addiction.

"Yes Q, look, I won’t be able to talk for long. They are onto me," 007 told him calmly, the click of a lighter on the other end causing a spark of interest; 007’s only vice was Earl Grey, as far as the Quartermaster knew.

Q smirked. “Smoking? Really, 007?”

"Not me darling, not me."

"Then tell your date it’s bad for his lungs," Q countered, ushering away R again.

007 chuckled. “Jealous, Q?” he teased.

Q raised an eyebrow, blue eyes bright, expression merciless. “Perhaps,” he said calmly, and smirked as 007 inhaled smoke incorrectly - the git had been lying - and choked.


	333. Chapter 333

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! You guys sent me an ask some time ago regarding a prompt I sent in that you didn’t receive. :D I sent a fanmail in reply but I don’t know if it went through? (If it did then I’m sorry for messaging again, haha.) The request was for a 00Q fic based off of Dessa’s “It’s Only Me” :) Please and thank you. Keep rocking! You guys are awesome :D – the stratospheric

Q leant oddly on the bed, head on the pillows, watching the ceiling with an absentminded, sad smile drawn over his lips. “Hey,” he murmured softly, voice too-loud in the silence of their flat. “It’s only me. Just… thought I’d check in. You seem to be off radar still, god alone knows why, but I’m officially off the mission now so… well. Trying your mobile is probably pointless, but it’s nice to dream. Be home soon, if you would…”

-

Q had the phone nestled in the junction of head and shoulder, pressed against his ear as he stirred a large pot of something or other, stew, tomatoes and beef had been involved along with questionable quantities of herbs. “Hello, only me. You’re late home, and I’m trying to cook, so please come home before I burn the flat down. You have been warned…”

-

“Morning, love. Only me.” The answering voice was light and loving and everything Q could have wished for. “Yes, I’m fine. All quiet on the Western front? Or Eastern, I suppose…” more lightness, more softness, and a warmth that made Q feel a little more alive than he had done. “No, fuck, Tanner’s been an absolute shit about health and safety after the fire alarm debacle…”

-

Q sat at his desk, headset in, jaw set. “Double-oh seven?” he asked shortly. “Yes, only me, who else were you expecting? Second street on your left, please move fast, I’d prefer to not be carting you home in a body bag…”

-

Cross-legged, voice quiet, broken into infinite numbers of pieces as dew seeped through the seat of his trousers, and he stared blankly. “Hello James,” he mumbled after a little while, hating the way his breath hitched on the name. “S’only me. Again. I just… well. I’m lonely, and I miss you. There we go. Moronic, but factual. I… well, work is fine, isn’t it always, and… fuck, James…”

-

The door hit the wall as it opened, with enough force to dent. Q jumped, reaching for the gun he had lying on the coffee table – he worked for MI6, he was allowed paranoia – and tried to focus on whoever had just managed the near impossible feat of  _breaking into his home_.

The man watching him was familiar, in a distant sense, eyes bright and skin dark and scattered, ragged and torn and empty and  _alive_.

Q stared, and stared. “It’s only me,” the familiar voice murmured.

In that instant, Q was undone.


	334. Chapter 334

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both of you are such wonderful writers, I love love loove your stories :) so, I’m not sure if this had been asked before, but can you write some kind of “5 times” story when people in m16 discovered bond and q’s relationship? maybe each time from different person’s perspective (maybe from M, or medical personnel, etc) thanksss! – anon

M discovered the burgeoning relationship between Q and 007 when the former strode into his office, and calmly that by MI6 protocols, M was bound to know of the relationship. It was utterly anticlimactic; M had seen it coming for a while, especially while monitoring missions where Q and Bond thought they were alone.

“Excellent. I’ll note him as your immediate contact and vice versa. Do let me know if you move in together; we will need to alter the security detailing.”

Q gaped, and walked out again without a further word.

-

Eve had been waiting patiently, from the  _moment_  the two met. Q had been so obviously attracted, and Bond was transparently enjoying every moment he spent with the other man, that it was a fait accomplit.

Ultimately, she just waited until she’d seen a soft, almost delicate smile pass between the two. “Oh, my  _god_ …”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll shoot you,” Bond told her calmly; she simply giggled, and disappeared back to work.

-

Tanner walked in to find Q and Bond fucking over Q’s desk.

He retreated quickly.

-

R walked in to find Q and Bond fucking over Q’s desk.

She retreated quickly.

-

Eventually, it reached the stage wherein everybody at MI6 knew about Bond and Q. Some knew for legal reasons, some for mission-related reasons, and the rest knew because neither of them could keep their hands off one another. Literally every surface in MI6 had been besmirched by the pair of them.

To be fair, it had also led to a massive increase in their security; everybody kept doors firmly locked, unless they wanted to clean dried ejaculate off the carpet and/or their latest files.

Bond and Q were spectacularly unrepentant.

Life was short. May as well enjoy it while they could.


	335. Chapter 335

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And one more! M, Eve, Q, and everyone else is worried. It’s been 4 months and James has stopped sleeping with women on and off missions. 4 months w/o sex for Bond is a crisis! After confrontation, they find out he’s been trial-running being monogamous so he can offer someone monogamy when he asks them out. Q is confused who it could be (he’s besties with Bond and can’t think of anyone) Bond wants to smack him over the head for being so slow :] (00Q obviamente) THANK YOU :] * hands you cookies * - blueskycloud9

“Yep. Four months.  _Officially_  four months. And nothing’s fallen off and Medical have given the all-clear, and we  _still_  have no idea why,” Q said carefully, glancing around the congregated handful of people in his office. “I’m beginning to get a little concerned. Any developments?”

M shrugged, Tanner looked mildly frightened, R was disinterested, and Eve started speaking. “Well, I’m taking him out for a drink”, she explained. “He’s cut right back, but if I get him on the martinis I may get him to talk.”

“Go,” M nodded firmly, agreeing with the idea, glancing between his colleagues. “If Bond is unwell, potentially mentally, it would be best to know. There is still the possibility that all this is a knock-on from unpleasantries on a mission that we don’t know of yet, and if he’s unstable…”

“Understood,” Eve cut in, her tone gentle and placatory. “Q, are you coming?”

Q simply grinned. “Obviously,” he nodded. “Alright then. If everybody could leave me to do some actual work?”

“Mission 007 is active,” Tanner said with a hefty touch of irony, rolling his eyes as he headed out the door.

-

Bond was definitely not that drunk. Q, on the other hand, was essentially horizontal. Eve was not a long way behind, but had an infinitely higher tolerance for alcohol; she had left the bar with them relatively wavy, but had returned to normality over the next hour or so while Q continued to drink. “So g’on, why?” Q grinned, all but lounging on Bond’s lap; apparently, he was a very, very tactile drunk. He always had been, and Bond had been very restrained about taking advantage as the years went by.

“I wanted to test a theory,” Bond mused aloud, running an absentminded hand through Q’s hair. “About monogamy, and whether or not I could.”

Q’s forehead crumpled curiously. “Why?” he asked foggily, nuzzling against Bond’s toned abdomen, making the older man smile slightly.

Eve watched, and knew  _everything_. Why Bond had been so chaste, why they spent so much time together, why Q seemed sad once in a while, why Bond watched and lingered. It all made immediate, bizarre sense. “Oh Bond, for god’s sake…” she murmured, looking over a mostly inebriated and deliriously, obviously happy Q.

“I want to give the person I care about everything I am,” Bond said quietly, looking directly at Eve, hand still in Q’s hair with appalling gentleness. “No cheating, no raging alcoholism. They deserve that.”

“Who?” Q asked lightly, arm over his face awkwardly, shifting languidly to get more comfortable.

Eve and Bond winced in unison, both very subtly. “Tell him,” Eve coaxed softly.

Q nodded sagely, the subtext soaring over his head. “Definitely,” he yawned, and started to settle in a way that indicated he was not a very long way from dozing off. “James, can I sleep here?”

Bond smiled, reaching for the blanket that rested over the back of his sofa. “Of course,” he murmured gently, casting it over Q’s curled body, gently extricating his glasses from his face and shaking his head fondly. He glanced up at Eve, who watched with something like horror and sympathy. “Soon.”

“Do,” she asked softly. “He’d do anything for you, you should know that.”

For a moment, Bond looked happier than Eve knew anybody could see from the agent. Something, perhaps, he saved for the young man sleeping on his lap, on the sofa. “I hope so,” he murmured, watching Q sleep with the expression of somebody completely entranced.


	336. Chapter 336

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you’ve done this, but, James and Q are like an old married couple. Everyone else sees it, they think everyone else is crazy. Until that moment when everything slots into place and theyh have the staggering realization that they’ve been together…without being together. :] THANK YOU!! You’re the bestest :] – blueskycloud9

Equipment clunked loudly on Q’s desk, and he glanced upwards. “Let me guess: dog ate it?”

Bond smirked. “Something like that. And you’re working too late again.”

Q rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “I, unlike some,  _do_  something on a daily basis other than shoot things and run very fast. I expend my energies over a longer period of time, to achieve something more productive long-term. Now, go away, and leave me to work.”

“You don’t want me to go,” Bond pointed out, as he slid into Q’s other chair and watched him, a smile playing in the corners of his mouth. “You want to hear stories from the mission, and accept – begrudgingly – whatever gift you know I’ve brought for you this time.”

Everybody knew. There was not a single person in MI6 who had not yet ascertained that Q and 007 were inches away from a torrid love affair; the only question remained _when_ , given that neither were budging an inch from their stubborn declarations that they hated the other and wished they would go to hell (only not, because he’s a damn good handler/damn good agent, depending on who was speaking).

For god’s sake, Q  _blushed_  when Bond handed him over a neatly wrapped bottle of Argentinian red wine, stashing it in his desk before either could acknowledge the obvious. “Splendid. Anything other than liver-rotting fluids?”

Bond snorted, leaning back elegantly in his chair, and putting his feet on the desk. “Off,” Q said simply, and Bond took them off again with a smile that attempted to be roguish.

“I’m going to vomit,” a Q-branch minion muttered; the people around her shushed, trying to listen in. There had been an office poll for  _weeks_ , and there were – by now – various people who stood to win a good deal of money. Toby was listening with particular interest, as he’d staked his money on  _today_.

Instead, they exchanged small talk like loaded weapons, and smiled like children at compliments and niceties. “Dinner?” Bond asked lightly. “I can cook if you want.”

“I’ll hack my way in, don’t bother leaving it open,” Q returned with vague sarcasm, grinning at Bond’s nod. “Excellent. I’ll be over about eight.”

Bond stood to go, stretching out his back slightly. “I’ll have the dessert wine in the fridge,” he nodded, and watched Q for another moment or two. “Bring the red.”

Q glanced up from his computer monitor. “Obviously,” he said, softer than anybody in Q-branch usually heard him speak.

The moment was held for another moment or two. “ _Get busy_ ,” Q yelled through the door; everybody duly did so, and Bond strode out a moment or two later.

Toby sighed. That was a tenner down the drain.


	337. Chapter 337

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q sits on the couch using his laptop or watching TV while waiting for Bond to return home from missions. One time… Bond finds Q passed out on the couch with all the lights on and maybe a laptop in his lap. Fluffiness ensues. :) Thanks! – anon

James Bond rarely felt the soft, fuzzy feeling that accompanied seeing an endearing image. Most deliberately ‘cute’ pictures of kittens or puppies inspired the urge to kick something - normally the animal in question – but even he could not stay stoic as he walked into his living room.

On the sofa lay his partner, curled around his laptop like a cat. His glasses were askew and pressing into his nose, lips slightly parted, screen long since on standby but all the lights still on. The idiot had tried to wait up for him after his mission, aware that Bond was due home.

Bond padded carefully to Q’s side, kneeling down next to him and reaching out a hand to gently stroke Q’s hair. The younger man let out a contented, sleepy yawn, nuzzling into it. Without opening his eyes, he murmured: “You’re not dead, then. I’m glad.”

"I should hope so too," Bond smirked. "Want to sleep here, or am I carrying you to bed?" he asked, continuing to stroke through Q’s hair.

"The laptop sleeps here…" Q pointed out as Bond chuckled.

Q let out a soft, startled yelp as Bond’s arms looped underneath him; abruptly, he was very much airborne. “ _James_ , what are you doing?” he managed, too asleep to put up a coherent fight. Thankfully, it was not a long way to the bedroom; Bond easily laid Q on the bed sheets, the younger man reaching upwards like a plaintive child to drag Bond closer again.

"Still dressed, Q," Bond pointed out, as Q limpeted onto his form.

"You knew the risks bringing me here 007," Q glowered into Bond’s chest. "Now shh, sleep time,"

Bond smiled, coaxing a yawning Q out of his clothes. “Taking advantage, Mr Bond?” Q mumbled, without any of his usual sarcasm; Bond kissed him gently on the top of the head, and divested himself of his own post-mission clothing in a sad heap of Prada.

As soon as they were nude, they lay peacefully together. Bond shifted, finally finding the singular most comfortable position they had ever managed; Q was lying on top of his chest, legs linked with Bond’s, avoiding the pitfalls of head-on-shoulder which invariably led to fidgeting when circulation was cut off in requisite arms.

Altogether, perfect.

"James?" Q murmured.

"I love you too," Bond told him, kissing his hair fondly.

Q smiled against Bond’s chest, barely suppressing a laugh. “That too, but erm… I have to pee.”

The agent groaned as Q left, the comfy position faded forever in a lost moment.


	338. Chapter 338

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know where you’re going with your latest prompt with 00Q in which Bond denies Q being Q while he’s being tortured but in my head my imagination went wild so AU time- Q loses his finger/s and thinks he’s lost it all so he drops off the face of the earth but then Moriarty finds him and uses his resources and Q’s brilliance to create bionic hands for him. Moriarty manages to convince Q to become a villain but then Q manages to out villain him (XD) so Moriarty has to join forces with MI6/Bond to take Q out since Q is taking over and putting him out of business as the top dog so to speak. The ending is up to you if you decide to take this prompt at all. I love your work so thank you for taking the time to write and post. – tomarryandharrymortotp

"James, a pleasure to see you," Q smiled lightly, looking up from the chair, along the barrel of Bond’s gun and into bright, ice blue eyes. "I see my colleagues left their mark."

Bond stepped forward, into the harsh light, and Q’s smile turned faintly sad; the long scar from the edges of Bond’s lips were visible even in this light, an ugly portrait, left behind. “Did you kill him, in the end?” Q enquired, watching as Bond glared.

"Slowly," Bond assured him, "I was quite definitely thorough."

Q shrugged, unrepentant and almost neutral. “Shame. He was a better fuck than you.”

Bond clicked the safety off, tone mocking. “Baiting me Q? A little childish don’t you think?”

Again, there was an utter lack of joy in Q’s eyes, quite unlike the other villains Bond had ever encountered. “As though it matters, at this stage,” he supplied quietly.

"I’m sorry for what happened,” Bond murmured, watching somebody he once loved in pieces. “I had to. I didn’t have a choice."

"Bollocks you didn’t," Q returned sharply, before glancing at his hands. "They’re good, aren’t they?" he offered, showing the silver casing where he had once had fingers. There was no glee, no satisfaction, only flat acceptance. "I should  _never_  have had to deal with this, James. It was your fault. Now - you’re here to kill me, I assume?”

Bond’s lips quirked. “The gun is a bit of a give away.”

Q smiled dully, “Send Jim my love, will you?” he asked, quite politely. “His monster misses him.”

"How poetic of you," Bond told him, still not  _shooting_ , for god’s sake.

Q was still smiling his distant, absent smile. “I’m glad they sent you,” Q told him, watching the agent.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Q almost managed to smile, his eyes dead and pained, and Bond understood: Q had found a way to make himself survive however he could, no matter how painfully. His Q was still there, but too hurt to be easily found.

"I missed you," Q said, honestly. "More than anyone else."

He flexed his fingers, perfect in their imitation. “If I had to die, I’m glad it is you that will kill me. The last face I will see.”

"I can’t take you in Q, you’re too much of a danger," Bond told him apologetically, as Q nodded.

"I was rather counting on that," he admitted softly, devastatingly, and looked at Bond. His gaze was absolutely, unerringly steady.

"Q…" Bond began, his voice fading to nothing.

"It’s been a pleasure, 007," Q told him, eyes calm as he looked up to his James. "Truly,"

"And you," Bond managed, the words sticking in his throat. "I’m so sorry Q,"

Q closed his eyes, smiling very faintly.

Bond raised his gun, and fired, just once.


	339. Chapter 339

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo, would you write one where Q gets raped by a big group of men (10-20) in front of James in attempt to get James to give up some secrets that only James knows. They both get rescued eventually, but to make matters worse, they find out that Q is pregnant with one of the men’s child. Up to you if Q decides to keep the child or abort it. – anon

"Tell us what we want to know and this stops," the leader told him, watching as Q grew limp in the men’s arms.

Bond closed his eyes a moment, trying to think. Q let out another sharp cry, and Bond winced slightly but didn’t otherwise move, didn’t say a word. If released information, he would risk everything; the lives of countless others, and - when all this was over - Q’s life. With the information, they would have no further use for his Quartermaster.

Somewhere, Q was crying desperately.

The men had various reactions; some laughed, some looked repulsed at what they’d made of what had once been a brilliant young man. There was no remorse to be found, only the eerie silence post-adrenaline and sex, the deflation of grandiosity to leave a young man to shiver exhaustedly, body contracting in tiny motions, trying to expel everything in him but without the energy to manage it.

"Somebody clean him up," the leader spat, clearly irritated at the lack of response his tactic had gained.

MI6 found them two days later. Thankfully the performance was not repeated and Q was left mostly alone. Neither had given them anything.

Q had not spoken. Not a single word had passed his lips, in any context, since that night. He screamed intermittently, cried, made almost animal noises whenever anybody tried to touch him; mostly, he lay on his side utterly motionless, crying in silence.

They had patched him up, in a way, but Medical had nonetheless dashed to him, restraining him after he attempted to scratch their legs. Bond, meanwhile, waited until he had been finally released from his own bonds to get to Q’s side. He had waited two  _days_  to be able to get near his lover, try to communicate with whatever was left. “Q,” he asked gently, while Medical pursed lips and barked orders and looked slightly nauseated. “Q, it’s over.”

Q whimpered breathlessly, throat raw and mottled with bruises, hand loose in Bond’s as he cried again. “Get me out,” he managed slowly, almost inaudibly, words shattering like glass. “Please.”

Bond nodded, reaching for Q’s hand as Medical placed him onto a stretcher. There was an ambulance waiting outside, which both men were hurried into. Bond sat at the side, Q’s hand in his own, as the doctors worked.

At some stage, Q mercifully lost consciousness. The doctors shook their heads and looked appalled, and asked Bond questions, which he answered with a dispassion that was frankly unnerving.

-

Q awoke from sedation a fair few days later, plugged into various devices and drugged to the eyeballs. “Welcome back,” Bond said lightly.

Q slowly craned his head around, fixing on Bond, contorting his expression into what should have been a smile. “Hey,” he replied croakily.

"How’re you feeling? Any pain?" Bond asked, glancing up at the various drips. It should worry him how much he knew about medical care these days; he spent far too much time here. Q tried to shrug, but found his shoulders uncooperative. He settled for a light shake of the head. "You’ve got the morphine button,” Bond continued, with a nod to the cord by Q’s hand. “Those things are the gold standard,"

Q glanced at it, fingers gaining enough dexterity to gently brush over the button. “What are they saying?” he mumbled, throat impossibly dry.

"You said nothing, neither of us did," Bond assured him, seeing Q relax just slightly. "As far as the injuries? It’s hard to say," he told him honestly, "there doesn’t seem to be permanent damage to you throat, but your speech may be impaired for a while,"

"Anything else?" Q asked, and the silence stretched. "What aren’t you telling me, James?"

Bond glanced over him, expression tight and careful. “Q, they did some tests. There’s no… no infections, or anything similar. But… Q, you’re pregnant.”

Q was quiet for a heartbeat. “Get it out,” he rasped.

"Q…" Bond tried, as Q started to struggle, pulling down his sheets to stare at his stomach, as though something was about to burst forth, Alien-style, from his belly.

"No James, just stop," Q told him, as Bond tried to speak. "This is my choice, and I am _not_  keeping it.”

"It could be mine," Bond pointed out quietly.

Q let out a soft sound, crying despite himself, nails digging into the already-bruised flesh of his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring at himself, at the bed, head spinning. “I can’t. I  _won’t_. I want it out of me,” Q keened, trying to pull his hands out of Bond’s grip, looking at him with absolute, naked terror. “Get it done. I don’t want to wake up again, not with that, please. Please.”

"Alright, shh," Bond moved next to him, kissing his hair and wrapping an arm around Q. "Look, I need your permission…"

"You have it, fuck, James, of course you have it…"

"Written Q, I’ll get the doctors and the forms but look," he paused, "Are you sure? This could, I mean, if we ever wanted to…"

"Something wrong with yours?" Q asked harshly, looking to Bond’s body.

Bond’s expression hardened a little. He had always stated that he felt uncomfortable carrying children; Q had agreed, when they had first discussed matters: he  _wanted children_ , his own children, and was going to undergo a procedure that could close that door entirely. Terminating male pregnancies carried far greater risks than female.

"Could you wait? Just a few days?" Bond asked, praying that Q would not see this as a selfish action on his part.

Q looked at him with absolute, blanket betrayal. “I am sane, I am an adult, and I am not going to bear a child that will remind me  _every moment_  of this,” he said, dangerous despite the rasp that ran through the words. “I won’t change my mind.”

Bond nodded, knowing that there was no way to change his partner’s mind. He moved away, fetching Q’s doctor.


	340. Chapter 340

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I’ve read all of your prompts (took a while, but very worth it!) and you two are both amazing! If you could write 00q, where Eve, Tanner, M etc. suspect Q is in an abusive relationship, but it turns out he’s with Bond, and the bruises are from Bond’s PTSD nightmares and Q helps him get through them (although it means he gets a little dashed before Bond wakes up sometimes). -Thank you!

Eve was the first to notice. She would bring Q his morning tea (after a particularly unfortunate loss of a bet, she had the MI6 morning Starbucks run) watching as the man would reach out, his wrist peppered with bruises. At first she smirked; apparently, the Quartermaster had a whole side of himself he was keeping quiet. One that involved handcuffs, by the look of things.

Q didn’t quite smile. He pulled his cuffs down quickly, thanked Eve lightly, and acted as though nothing had occurred.

It was only when Tanner noticed, too, that alarm bells started ringing.

"He winces sometimes, when he moves," Tanner pointed out, as they watched the Quartermaster work. He and Eve exchanged concerned expressions, upping surveillance, trying to ascertain what was going on.

It was when Q walked in with a full blown black eye that M got involved.

Q found himself surrounded by a host of well-meaning colleagues, and his boss, that afternoon. “Q, we’re worried,” Eve announced, as apparent spokesperson for the lot of them.

Honestly, Q could do nothing but look mildly bemused. “By?” he asked slowly.

"How did you get the black eye?" Eve asked, nodding at it.

Q smirked slightly. “I am a 20-something year old man, how do you think I got it?” he joked. Instantly, he saw that humour wouldn’t fly. His expression sobered. “I got into a fight. Well. I was assaulted. Something about disliking my style of dress and penchant for male partners.”

He looked between them, seeing the slightly worried faces. “You all seem to think there is something going on here?” This is what he got for working in the secret service; bloody  _nosey_  colleagues.

Eve was the one to finally voice it. “Q, we know you’re seeing Bond,” she said gently. “He’s not…very  _stable_ , and we’re worried he’s… you know. Hurting you.”

Q felt a small, indignant bubble of anger. “Unstable?” he echoed, jaw beginning to take on a livid set. “You think James would ever do that, to  _anybody_?!”

"We can only go on what we have seen, Quartermaster," M assured him, "and, judging by the regular bruising and difficulty of movement, we felt it was time to step in."

"I can’t believe this…" Q muttered, shaking his head as he looked around the room.

Eve moved in, placing an hand on Q’s arm; he shook her off, by now winding himself up nicely. “James has fucking  _PTSD_  from this place,” he hissed, low and lethal. “He has nightmares, lashes out. We’ve talked about it, he’s getting sleep therapy, but sometimes it breaks through anyway. Fuck, he would  _never_  deliberately hurt me. He slept on the sofa for a bloody  _fortnight_  the first time, and it’s  _my choice_  to stay. I help, I can help, and frankly - a couple of bruises don’t matter.”

The room filled with an embarrassed silence, no one quite knowing what to say. Q looked between them, waiting, mutinous.

"You are certain that is all?" M asked quietly, "I’m sorry to have to do this to you Q, but we have to be completely sure you and 007 are safe,"

"Ask him yourself," Q snapped, running a hand through his hair. "He’s outside, waiting for me, I’m supposed to have finished ten minutes ago. Go on."

"I don’t believe that will be necessary," M told him firmly, looking, slightly pleading, to Eve.

She stepped forward, but Q raised a hand. “I truly, don’t want to hear it. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” he told them, turning his back and leaving to where James stood, waiting for him.


	341. Chapter 341

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a prompt where James and Bond are already in a relationship and James hears a rumor that Q is planning on ending the relationship and confronts Q about it and Q reassures Bond that he’s not going to dump him? – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lex

The scurrying was a put off. Normally none of Q-branch would blink when Bond walked through the doors (the swishy ones that Q had commissioned specifically. Bond argued that their Quartermaster needed to stop watching Star Trek. Q unapologetically made every door automated anyway).

Now, the Q-branch kids all ran from him.

Bond sighed. Something had happened. “Right,” he muttered, looking around; one was skulking, so he grabbed her and tugged her closer. “What’s happened?”

"Nothing 007," the man assured him, looking to R nervously. Bond raised an eyebrow, but turned to R. "Well?"

"Q’s in a bit of a bad mood," R shrugged noncommittally. "We thought maybe you’d done something.

Bond left them, walking into Q’s office. The rumours had been spinning, had reached Bond’s ears, and this was the final straw for his mounting paranoia. “Q?” he asked cautiously. Mentally, he was already running through the past couple of days; he’d forgotten about the cat food again, not to mention the house plants. Then there was the mess, and/or the latest mission…

"Oh James, thank god," Q sighed, smiling tiredly, surrounded by empty mugs and takeaway cartons.

Bond’s mouth formed a small ‘oh’ of surprise.”Are you… alright?” Bond asked. Q would often sleep in the office on long missions, but this was becoming ridiculous; he had barely been home in the past  _week_.

"005 went off radar," Q explained, hurriedly typing away. "I’ve been swamped ever since,"

"So this isn’t… I haven’t done anything?" Bond asked, watching Q work.

Q paused looking up at him with complete confusion. “What? No, of course not,” Q assured him. Bond nodded, trying to calm the nagging sensation within him.

"So we are all ok, you’re not going to…" Bond couldn’t quite bring himself to say it, feeling rather x-rayed by Q’s expression. "End this, us?" he managed, the words bitter in his mouth.

Q blinked. “What in the hell gave you  _that_  idea, you idiot?” he asked, confused and exasperated.

"Your minions,” Bond tried. “They seemed to think this was all my fault…"

Q rolled his eyes. “No Bond, it’s not. If it helps, seeing you has been the highlight of my past few days,” he said honestly, and graced Bond with a smile. “Now, for god’s sake calm down and get me a tea.”

Bond looked to him, relief flooding him. “Right, of course. You know Q, sleep has a similar effect to caffeine…” He broke off when he saw the look on Q’s face, and sighed. “Milk no sugar?”

"Wonderful."


	342. Chapter 342

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi! I check your stuff daily and eagerly devour the new stories. I have one for you, James is traumatized by Vesper’s death and sees Q almost die via drowning (boffin can’t swim! good thing Bond can and he was saved in the nick of time!). Cue overprotective Bond giving Q swimming lessons in a bathtub or a kiddie pool, complete with floaters. Q is exasperated but indulges Bond for his peace of mind.

"This is pointless," Q assured him, looking around at the five year old next to him. At least Bond hadn’t insisted on arm bands. "I have never needed swimming James,"

"Until last week," Bond pointed out. The only upside, Q mused, was seeing his lover in nothing more than a pair of tiny swim shorts.

This, mostly, was just quite embarrassing. Bond had managed to find every flotation device in the south of England, and put it all in a single pool. “James, I’m not dead. I’m fine. Really, very much fine…”

"I am aware," Bond all but growled. "Now, try and paddle towards me."

Q shot him a death glare. “I am not three, James.”

The embarrassing fact was that it hadn’t even happened on a mission. They had been on Bond’s yacht – the man had a damn  _boat_  – when Q had fallen off the edge. Bond had spent precisely five seconds casting his watch and phone to one side, before diving in after his young lover.

Altogether, it had been a rather embarrassing incident. Q had inhaled water and lost most dignity, only to be outclassed by the closest to a panic attack Q had ever seen from James Bond.

He could understand of course; the Vesper conversation had long since happened, and Q had taken the liberty of reading the subsequent files.

Still, this all seemed a bit much. Q gripped the strange foam board that Bond had handed him, and attempted to kick his way towards the agent. His legs moved unevenly, inelegantly, and Bond looked oddly stern and Q couldn’t help but snort; he was going to have to pander to Bond’s worries, clearly. He seemed unlikely to leave the subject alone, otherwise. “Can I go yet?” he whined.

"Not until you have reached at least a basic standard wherein you won’t die the moment you hit water," Bond insisted, moving away from the side and forcing Q to follow. “You won’t fly, and you can’t swim. You’re a bloody liability.”

Q took a breath, sighing out slowly. “I hate you,” he mumbled, shaking as his head as he moved stiltedly through the water. “Honestly, James. Hate you.”

Bond just smiled, reached through the water to scoop Q forward, and kiss him.


	343. Chapter 343

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James accuses Q of cheating because he’s sneaking away at odd hours. Turns out, Q has been working on his birthday present for Bond (exploding pen? car? whatever your pleasure is?) and Q gets mad at him for his lack of trust. James now has to win back Q with the geekiest ways possible (cosplay? saying ‘I love you’ in code? referencing Star Wars or Dr. Who?). :)

Q walked in as quietly as he could, slowly rotating the key in the lock, leaving it there as he opened the door. He padded across the carpeted floor, only to have the light flicked on. “You’re home late,” Bond commented darkly.

The light was almost blinding, Q blinking uncomfortably. “Yes, and you’re up late,” Q parried, with a yawn. “You alright? You were sitting in the dark. Dramatic effect notwithstanding…”

"And this is the fourth time you’ve done this," Bond countered; he stood up from the sofa, letting his book flop sideways and bounce onto the floor. "Q, I need to know: is there someone else?"

Q stilled a moment, glancing to Bond with a faintly confused expression. “Well, at least you didn’t try for small talk first,” he said quietly. “Why, the h _ell_ , would you think that?”

“Because I’ve done it before,” Bond replied, raising a hand to Q’s startled expression. “Not to you, never to you, but in the past… look, I just need to know.”

"I don’t believe this," Q said, stunned, looking at him in a way that made Bond’s insides coil. He reached out, trying to take Q’s shoulder; he shrugged Bond off lividly, eyes blazing. "No. Don’t even try it. I’ve been working on your goddamn  _birthday present_ , James. All these evenings, I’ve been in the sodding  _office_.”

Bond froze. “Q…”

"No James, just… just go away, I don’t care, I’ll take the spare room," Q told him as Bond tried to comfort him.

-

The convention was teeming, and Bond felt like a pork chop at a Jewish wedding (Eve’s phrase, not his own). The leather jacket was sweltering, sticking to his skin. It’s for Q, he reminded himself repeatedly. At least the costume had been easy to put together, the screwdriver proving the most problems.

People walked by him, waving and holding up similar screwdrivers. In one case a girl in a union jack shirt asked if she could take a picture with him. He nodded, blinking at the overly bright flash.

"James?" he turned around to see his partner, dressed in an oddly long woolen coat and blue scarf. "What are you doing here?"

"I erm…" Bond shrugged, "I knew this was important to you and I wanted to… yeah," Q looked at him, torn between laughter and gratitude.

"Do you even know who you are dressed up as?" he asked

"Vaguely, I know the costume looked simple," Bond shrugged. "But you could…show me? We could watch it, if you like.”

"You really are going all out aren’t you?" Q chuckled, watching his overly macho boyfriend blush.

"I miss you," Bond admitted. Q still hadn’t moved out of the spare room and Bond’s sleeping was suffering because of it. The man’s familiar presence had always been a great comfort to him. "I’m an idiot."

"Yes, you are," Q confirmed, smiling a little. "But you are my idiot."

They had gathered a small audience of excitable girls, sat just off to their left. “I was scared,” Bond admitted quietly. “I’m not as young as I have been, and I’m not the greatest of… well I’m paranoid and…”

Q shut him up with a kiss, wrapping his arms around his lover’s neck. From their left they heard a small chorus of ‘ahh’s’.

"I ship it…" one girl squealed, and Q broke off to snort, and offer them a picture.


	344. Chapter 344

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m in the hospital right now and I was wondering if I could get a bit of Q having a major operation and then spilling the beans on something because pain mess? It would make my day a lot better! Thanks <3 – nerdqueen269

Q woke up, blinking slowly. The world seemed tilted a little bit on one end, out of perspective somehow, uneven and mocking him by teetering to either side intermittently and remaining stubbornly blurry.

It didn’t occur for a couple of minutes that he wasn’t wearing his glasses, so of course, he couldn’t see a damn thing.

To his tremendous relief, absolutely nothing hurt or ached or really was being problematic in the slightest. Except breathing too heavily, which made twinges of pain lance through his stomach; he kept his breath even but shallow, aware of the _beep_  that told him his heart was stubbornly still beating, and hadn’t quite given up just yet.

“Hi?” he rasped, rather hoping there was somebody around.

Even through the haze of myopia, Bond was distinctly recognisable. “Double-oh seven,” Q mumbled; he tried for something acerbic, but his brain had decided to work independently of his mouth. “Why you here?”

Bond’s grin was all teeth. “I saved your life, Quartermaster,” he pointed out. “It seemed only fair to ensure you didn’t die in hospital.”

Q managed nothing, except a prolonged  _ergh_  of generalised pain. “You don’t have to be pleased to see me…”

“I  _am_ ,” Q said emphatically, a little too emphatically, to be quite honest. “Of all people, I like seeing you.”

Bond looked very quietly happy. Q saw, because Bond slid his glasses onto his face at some stage – Q wondered if he had slid out of consciousness for a minute or two – and could now see Bond’s face very clearly. “You’re pretty,” he managed, some part of him sarcastically noting that really, it wasn’t the most auspicious start.

“As are you,” Bond said kindly; Q made a strangled noise, not unhappy, more like a teenager trying to flirt and being sideswiped by a compliment. “Blimey, Q, they’ve given you the good stuff, haven’t they?”

Q let out a soft keening noise, fidgeting, staring at Bond’s face with a distant sort of smile. “ _Really_  pretty,” he said with some satisfaction, sleepily. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Being here,” Q replied simply. “I like you here. I like you everywhere, actually.”

Bond was trying valiantly hard not to laugh; Q was being endearingly candid, something he had almost never seen before. “Alright,” he smiled. “Good to know.”

“Really though,” Q murmured, as his eyes slid shut again. “You make everything better.”

The humour died in a heartbeat, as Bond registered the absolute seriousness of Q’s statements. The underlying affection, need, want.

Q was near enough asleep.

Bond reached out a hand, and laid it over Q’s.


	345. Chapter 345

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Jen! I’m a super big fan of your writing. I’m more of a 00Silva shipper, but I do like my 00Q occasionally- mostly because of your stuff! Well, I have an idea for a prompt. With all this torture and character death (which makes me really sad and cry of wonderfulness), why not do something where Bond and Q try to be a standard, cute couple? Like, if Q insisted they go together for a fun activity: a carnival, mini-golf, a movie, anything sappy! I’d love to see their dynamic in those settings!

Q’s hand laced with Bond’s, popcorn caught between his knee and an ungodly amount of lemonade in a cardboard cup next to him. He’d acceded to two straws, but Bond knew Q well enough to ascertain that he would barely get a look-in on the drinks front.

The film had been Bond’s idea, and Q had pounced it with great alacrity; a flippant comment had become Q’s impromptu life ambition, and they wound up at a ten o’clock showing of the Avengers, Q all but vomiting with excitement.

“I  _never_  have the time to see films and I love comics and Avengers and oh my  _god_ James…”

Bond had listened to non-stop excitable burbling for about the last hour. Heading to the cinema, buying tickets, buying popcorn, refusing to allow Q ice cream on the basis of too-much sugar and blithely forgetting that lemonade in vast quantities would achieve the same effect.

Now, Q bounced up and down next to him, waiting for the screen to light.

The ads were an exercise in disparaging commentary, the trailers all cause for further, massive levels of excitement. Bond was relatively certain Q was speaking at a pitch only certain mammals would ever be able to comprehend, squeezing his hand almost bruisingly.

“Calm down,” Bond murmured, as Q’s grin lit wider than the screen.

Q just looked at him, like he had said something truly heinous. “It’s the  _Avengers_ ,” he pointed out, as though that should explain everything.

Bond grinned, taking a moment while a phones-off announcement played to kiss Q deeply, lingeringly. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said honestly, as Q continued to grin, eyes shining and bright and very  _young_ , innocent and happy and young.

“Love you,” Q said, squeezing Bond’s hand as the film started, and he hushed his lover with an overly excitable flapping hand gesture.

Bond watched Q for a moment longer, scarcely able to believe his luck. “I love you too,” he murmured, almost too low for Q to hear, as his lover fell into a world of superheroes and magic, and Bond followed.


	346. Chapter 346

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst lover here, been gone a while. I need some serious angst. Maybe one where there is a terrorist bombing in London where Q is at picking something up at the chemist for James, because he is sick. James sees the whole thing on TV because of some sort of celebration that the news is covering. Q doesnt answer his phone when James calls in a panic. if you want to end it happy thats fine but I need a mega load of angst. – Angst Lover

_Breaking News: There has been a series of explosions in Central London…_

Bond’s expression turned from casual to alert, terrified, in the space of several seconds. He had been watching BBC News 24 – an excellent way to catch up on British current affairs, as the media liked to paint – when the ribbon of text curled across the bottom of the screen and a harassed news announcer started talking.

The London Underground, and a bus, according to early reports.

 _Q_.

Bond grabbed at his phone, speeddialling Q’s mobile; even if the damned apocalypse came, Q would answer his mobile.

Only, the network was choked. Everybody in or around  _London_  was trying to call people, check anybody was alive; Bond was met with insistent, repeated beeping to inform him that the network was experiencing a high volume of calls, and could…

Emergency line to MI6, working on a separate network to the other major phone lines. R answered. “Yes?” she snapped, sounding immensely harassed.

“Is Q there?”

Silence for a moment. Horrified silence. “Oh,  _fuck_ ,” R breathed, with panic lacing her tone. “He went home about half an hou…”

“Does he have trackers? Can we find him?”

“On it,” R said quickly, typing frenetically.

Bond, meanwhile, decided that staying static in the flat was simply not an option. He knew Q’s route home, knew the tube lines and stations; he disappeared out, with no real idea of where he was going or what he was looking for, and R in his ear getting increasingly frantic.

It came as something of a shock, to walk straight into Q.

“James?” he asked, with vague confusion. “What…?”

Bond wrenched the younger man into his arms, tight, almost bruising, without a single word. “Thank god,” he breathed, kissing his temples, face, anything he could reach. “ _Fuck_ , Q. Bombing on the Underground. I’m guessing you didn’t know about it?”

Q held up a plastic Boots bag wordlessly. “Had to grab a few things. Sorry, did you just say  _bombing_?”

Bond nodded, still refusing to let go of his lover. “We need to contact MI6. I’m not letting you go anywhere until the threat is contained, you can work remotely.”

“But…”

“ _No_ ,” Bond said firmly, before Q could get another word.

Q glanced over Bond’s face, stroking his cheek lightly. “I’m okay,” he reminded gently. “It’s all okay. Promise.”

Bond just held his gaze for a long, weighty moment. “We have work to do,” he murmured, and pulled Q home, refusing to let him go.


	347. Chapter 347

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So it might be a little silly, but I have the song Jolene by Dolly Parton stuck in my head and I’d really love to see a fic from it? One where maybe there’s somebody Q is afraid of losing Bond to because he doesn’t think he can compete – anon

Q was dressed impeccably, no cardigan in sight. His shirt was tightly fitted, high quality, trousers sloping down his legs. No glasses, contacts Bond assumed, his hair was styled neatly, there might even be a trace of eyeliner. “What’s all this in aid of?”

"Just… you, you know. I want to look nice," Q shrugged.

Bond glanced up and down him, with light approval. “You look extraordinary,” he said with soft honesty. “I feel flattered, you realise. And underdressed.”

"Please!" Q laughed, looking him up and down. "You are the one man on this  _earth_  who can  _never_  be under dressed. You make a tux work on a beach!” he exclaimed, looking at Bond’s perfectly pressed suit.

Bond smiled, tracing over the sharp lines of Q’s own outfit. “I’m sure we can test the bounds of ‘underdressed’ at some later stage,” he purred, with a wink that made Q smirk himself.

Q blushed, taking Bond’s hand and walking into the restaurant. It was incredibly difficult to get a reservation here; their waiting list was almost as long as the Fat Duck’s.

They sat down, Q looking over the wine list in trepidation; he knew nothing about wine, and Bond looked terrifyingly calm.

Q went to run his hand through his hair, but he stopped himself before he could wreck his style.

"What do you fancy?" Bond asked, looking down the list critically.

Q tried valiantly hard to sound casual. “I don’t mind, whatever you like,” he managed, looking around; everyone looked incredible. Perfectly sculpted bodies, expensive clothing, all laughing and seeming perfectly at home.

"Q?" Bond asked, snapping Q out of his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Q smiled distractedly.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Q…”

The waiter arrived, and Bond rattled off an order. He then turned back to Q with a merciless, intent expression, and essentially waited for Q to speak.

"It’s stupid," Q managed later. "I just… all these people? They are closer to your league… so to speak.”

"My league?" Bond laughed, glass of wine half raised to his lips. "That’s what’s been worrying you?"

"I’m not, I’m… I like cardigans," Q managed, "I’ve never been to a place like this, in my life, my bloody  _brother_ had to buy me this shirt…”

"Why does any of that matter?" Bond asked, reaching over for Q’s hand on the table. "I love you Q, as you are. Exactly as you are, cardigans, glasses, look if you want we can forget this place and get a take away,"

Q gaped. “But, this place…”

"I was just trying to impress you Q," Bond laughed, looking around. "I didn’t think you’d react like this, which is fine, by the way,"

Q let out a small laugh. “You would really just, get a take away?”

Bond shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “There’s a great Indian down the road from me.”

"No, don’t worry - shouldn’t waste the table," Q replied, though he was very tempted. "Next time, maybe?”

"I’ll remember that one," Bond grinned; he looked at Q’s face, watching him blink furiously. "Oh, for god’s sake, go put your glasses back on – and can you even breathe in that shirt?"

Q laughed, reaching over the table and kissing his partner, feeling that maybe, just maybe, he could be good enough.

—-

The evening found Q with his head in the toilet, barely coherent. “Still love me?” he asked weakly.

Bond had held back of most of his curls as the younger retched painfully, officially removing all traces of the expensive dinner. Q exhaustedly leant his head on his arm, mouth still poised over the bowl; they had thankfully managed to remove the new shirt before disaster struck, leaving Q bare from the waist up and hating life in general as his stomach insistently lurched towards his mouth.

"Absolutely," Bond told him, offering him a glass of water. Q shook his head, gagging again. "Should have gone for the bloody Indian after all.”

"It’s my uncultured tastebuds, clearly," Q managed, groaning expansively, accepting the glass of water like a child.

Bond helped support it, smiling slightly. “Actually I think it was the fish”

Q let out a low groan. “I hate everything,” he whined, taking a small sip, handing the glass back to Bond. “I’m your bloody Quartermaster, this is utterly undignified.”

Bond laughed lightly, offering a hand; Q looked at it like it was a complex theorem, before managing to take it; he was helped to the bedroom, lying him on his side and dashing to fetch a bowl.

Just in time; he placed the bowl next to Q, who promptly vomited once again. "Oh _god_ ,” he groaned. “This is blood, I am vomiting  _blood_.”

Bond hushed him softly, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I think that’s tomato, to be fair,” he pointed out lightly, and handed the water back; Q swirled it around his mouth and spat, before taking another small sip. “You’re probably clear now. Hang on, let me prop you up.”

"This is humiliating…"

Bond placed a pillow under his head, leaving briefly to swirl the bowl out with bleach. He returned it, to find Q, head lolling. “Come here,” he instructed, cleaning Q’s mouth off and getting a few bits out of his hair.

"Next time," Q burbled, clinging onto Bond. "No more posh food.”

Bond nodded, carefully dabbing at his face, small and gentle movements. “Honestly, Quartermaster,” Bond tutted slightly, Q making a small face.

"Never again."

"Never," Bond reassured him. "Promise."


	348. Chapter 348

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I really love your fills! I have a prompt if you’d be so kind. Bond has never hidden the fact that he wants Q. Q gets a rare afternoon off work and comes back to his flat to find his partner in their bed with another man. Q finds Bond for comfort (and possible revenge sex?) Thanks. – anon

Q sat at his desk, a photo in his hands. He crumpled it slowly, his own face and that of his - now ex - boyfriend crunching into nothing. The paper flew across the desk, missing the bin. Q slammed his fist down, disrupting his tea, anger and hurt making him shake.

"Everything alright?"

Q looked up, wiping his face hurriedly. “Yes 007,” he nodded, swallowing back the rest of the sobs, “Fine, thank you.”

The agent lingered in the doorway, eventually stepping forward and shutting the door, blocking Q from the view of his minions. "Do you want to… talk about it?" he asked, nodding to the crumpled photo.

"No," Q replied, sharp and defensive, grabbing for his tea. "What are you doing here?”

"My equipment," Bond shrugged, placing down just over half of what Q had given him three weeks ago.

"Thank you, leave it on the desk," Q told him. leaning back.

Bond nodded, and turned to go. “He wasn’t worth you, you know,” he said quietly, facing the door.

"What?" Q asked, looking up from salvaging his gear.

"That man," Bond looked round, nodding to the crumped photograph. "He’s an idiot if he gave up a chance with you.

Bond turned back to the door, continuing out. “Bond.  _James_ , wait,” Q called after him.

Bond looked at him, and simply raised an eyebrow.

-

In retrospect, Q wasn’t quite sure how they ended up on his desk, Bond thrusting into him. Q moaned, one leg wrapped around Bond’s back, pulling him in deeper. "Oh  _fuck_ ,” he panted, feeling his orgasm rise, Bond’s stomach brushing against his erection, the older man maintaining his punishing pace. “James, oh fuck,  _James_!” Q cried, mouth open in a half-voiced cry as he came, spurting across Bond’s shirt.

Bond growled, the spasms around his cock driving him mad; a moment later, he came into Q’s arse with a low pant.

He pulled away, letting Q sink back against the desk as he fell to the floor. “Wow,” Q managed a minute later, reaching for his glasses foggily.

"Yeah," Bond agreed; he hadn’t had an orgasm that strong in a decently long while. "Yeah."

The silence stretched out for a moment, almost uncomfortable but not quite, not yet.

“James, I…” Q began, hand brushing the crumpled photo. “I don’t think I’m ready for…”

Bond raised a hand. “I understand,” he nodded, standing up slowly, pulling on his trousers. “Don’t worry. But: if you ever want… I mean, if you think you’re ready for more…”

"I’ll know where to find you," Q nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"

Bond paused, looking at Q and opening his mouth to speak; he seemed to think better of it after a moment, and continued to walk out, shutting the door behind him.

Q just sank back onto his desk, with a light smile creasing his features.


	349. Chapter 349

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey I love your fills, I have a prompt, people are flirting with Q at a party and bond gets very jealous causing him to make a big fluffy scene infroby of loads of people??? Thanks you’re the best!! :) x – anon

It was the Q-branch Christmas party, and Q was most certainly the man of the hour; everybody was busy speaking to him, meeting him, congratulating him. He had only been in position for a few months, and his track record was frankly record-breaking already; everyone wanted to talk to the brilliant young Quartermaster, from the highest echelons of MI6 to the lowest.

Bond watched from the side lines, draining his martini in a few easy sips as he watched his damned  _beautiful_ Quartermaster busy talking to literally anybody in the building barring himself.

As the night drew inexorably on, Bond barely got a word in edgeways; Q popped up to say hello intermittently, as Bond became ever increasingly drunk.

He could  _see_  people flirting. Unmistakeable body language, tilted torsos and accentuated cleavage and subtle hip placements, subconscious but perfectly, sickeningly readable.

In the end, he just got too fed up and jealous, stalking forward unsteadily towards Q.

"Bond?" Q asked in faint confusion, a little rosy-cheeked from the booze. "Are you alright?"

Bond scooped up a piece of mistletoe from one the table in front of Q, and held it up. He didn’t even bother with his customary smirk, just cutting through the rubbish to get to Q himself.

Q blushed a charming shade, while the various Q-branch minions scattered around the hall seemed to realise something was about to happen,  _finally_ ; they had flirted with Q without any apology all bloody night, trying to inspire some type of response which seemed to be happening at long last.

Now, Q easily fitted into his arms, and the kiss just seemed utterly organic.

Bond took it a step further; he lifted Q up, an inch or two off the ground, and propelled him into the centre of the room. “What are you doing?” Q giggled. “Bond, everybody is _watching_.”

"Dance?" Bond offered simply, hand extended. “Let them watch. They can  _watch_  all they like.”

Q smirked, shaking his head slightly. "You are an insecure bastard," he grinned, accepting Bond’s hold, and allowing himself to be led around the room. 


	350. Chapter 350

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suave runs through 007’s veins, except perhaps when it comes to courting Q. 006 and Moneypenny have a grand time laughing at him for it, and helping him ‘get the guy’. Would love for M to get involved, possibly making a decree or issuing a lockdown instrumental to getting them together. Thanks! – anon

"Flowers, Bond?" Eve teased, as Bond looked down to the small bunch in his hand. "He’s not a teenage girl."

"I don’t know what you are talking about," Bond said hastily. "And what’s wrong with flowers?"

Alec just shook his head. “How you’ve ever been laid, I’ll never know,” he commented drily, while Eve continued to just giggle slightly behind her hand.

Bond looked utterly lost; Eve patted him on the shoulder, looking vaguely sympathetic. "Have you ever tried to woo a man?"

Bond raised an eyebrow, “‘Woo’?” he asked sceptically.

"Romance, seduce…" Alec told him, "something with an end other than  _just_ fucking?”

Bond looked completely, and entirely, mystified. “I…”

Eve took some pity. “James, trying to form romantic attachments needs… a lightness of touch,” she explained kindly. “Especially given your history.”

"What do you mean?" Bond asked, a little defensive. Eve glanced to Alec, who rolled his eyes with something approaching contempt.

"If you walk in with flowers, he is going to assume you want to shag him," Alec explained. Before Bond could protest, he tried again, "And  _just_  shag him, one night stand sort of thing. Your usual,” he jibed; Bond nearly punched him, Alec ducking back quickly. “If you want more - you have to start slow.”

“How?” Bond asked, as Eve took the flowers from his hand.

"Well, you could start by returning your bloody equipment.”

Bond turned; his Quartermaster stood in the doorway, a slight smirk on his face. “Hello, Q.”

Q took a handful of steps into the room, eyebrow arched. “You’re about as subtle as a flying mallet,” he said disapprovingly. “Invite me to dinner. Wear a nice suit, preferably the dark grey one. Don’t drink more than a glass or two of wine, and ply me with alcohol, and whatever you do, do not attempt to sleep with me on the first date. A kiss may or may not be applicable, depending on behaviour.”

Bond stood stupidly for a moment, blinking. “Go on,” Eve encouraged, while Alec tried and fail to stop snorting.

"Erm… would you like to come out to dinner with me?”

"I’ll think about it," Q replied, walking back into his office without another word.


	351. Chapter 351

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love all of your prompts and ships!!! After Vesper, Eve is my favorite female character, and she deserves a little prompt. Eve is pregnant. Q´s minions have planned a baby shower for her. Have fun :D – anon

Eve walked into the branch, her face a perfect mask of surprise as she saw the banner and various gifts. Truth be told she had bullied one of the younger minions into telling her  _exactly_  what they were planning to do.

The minions all shrieked  _surprise_ , and Q - their esteemed leader - just stood with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk.

"Thank you all so much!" Eve trilled, looking around and seeing the overly large cake. A few of the other branches had chipped in, apparently, some of the double-ohs lingered there too.

Bond was standing rather close to the Quartermaster; it was an official secret that the pair of them had slept together three nights ago, and had barely been keeping their hands off each other since.

Maybe she should offer one of them godfather.

Eve smirked, nodding at them; they gave slightly sarcastic waves back, Q glancing briefly to Bond, who just shrugged slightly. “Somewhere to get to?” she asked.

"Maybe," Bond returned.

Eve just raised an eyebrow, pouting. “Well, you’ll stay for the cake,” she said, in a tone that wasn’t quite a suggestion.

"Obviously. That thing is double chocolate on the bottom!" Q crooned; the Quartermaster’s sweet tooth was nothing if not notorious, eyes wide as he looked over it.. "I want at least a quarter of that middle tier."

Bond just rolled his eyes, his expression leaving no doubt as to what he had hoped would be happening instead of cake. “I don’t suppose you have hormonal anti-cake problems that would mean I inherit your piece?” Q asked optimistically.

"Me or…?" Bond teased, as Eve laughed.

"How are you not three times your size?" she asked, a little enviously. Q was a scrawny thing, made mainly of bone by what she could tell. That must make the sex awfully… she stopped herself, not something to be imagining here.

Q shrugged, “Metabolism,”

Bond shook his head, “No, you just eat like a damn rabbit when you work,”

“Just because I enjoy salads…” Q protested, Bond shutting him up with a hand.

"You eat grass, Q. Mushrooms and grass," Bond told him sternly. "Please, for the love of God Eve, don’t let your kid become a veggie?"

"…Tofu isn’t mushroom," Q protested, as Eve laughed.

"Still a fungus.”

“Thank you for organising this, Q,” Eve said, kissing him lightly on his cheek, before moving to Bond. “I’d thank you, but you did fuck all,” she told him, Bond chuckling as she kissed him too.

"I got you a present," Bond pointed out as Eve was dragged to one of the tables by an excitable minion; the boxes stood in obsessively neat row, Eve grinning. One was definitely a pram – a gift from most of M-branch. The rest turned out to be bottles, clothes, soft toys. Bond handed her his gift, beaming with pride.

"It’s a kitten," Eve commented, pulling out the soft toy. "Bond, why…?"

"Q thought it was cute," Bond shrugged, as Q handed over the other half of the present - a mini onesie with cat ears and a tail. Eve looked over the two presented, admitting them a smile.

"…Ok. So that is adorable.”

"I knew it!" Q crowed. "See,  _told you_  I understand children,”


	352. Chapter 352

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love the way you write each prompt. I have one, hope you don´t mind. I have read several of your prompts about James having nightmares, but this one is different. Silva has kidnapped Q and Vesper. Bond can ONLY save ONE. Remember is a just nightmare. – anon

Bond kicked through the door, finding another corridor. Too many fucking corridors. “What do you want?” Bond asked sharply, glancing around at the various doors, choosing one at random.

It splintered inwards, revealing his target, and two other figures.

Silva stood in the centre.

Two guns, two people.

Vesper.  _Vesper_. So beautiful; dark hair, full lips, heavy-lidded eyes and a sexuality that oozed off her in roiling waves, that and her sharply lethal intelligence.

That was wrong. It had to be wrong. Definitely wrong.

But, Silva was talking again, and it didn’t make  _sense_.

"You may only save one of them Mr Bond," he was saying, voice oddly distant. "Your choice."

Bond looked; the other occupant, his Quartermaster, so young and so beautiful. He was dressed in his oversized parka, from the day they’d met; a child, an upstart young thing with bright green eyes and a need for a haircut.

He looked between them desperately.

He could save her. Unlike before, unlike last time, when he’d fucked up so badly and lost so much. He could finally atone for everything he’d done.

"One or I kill both,” Silva said, perfectly calm.

He had nearly left MI6 for Vesper, once. Begun a life, loved her with so completeness it hurt. It was  _Vesper_ , and years of hurt went into that word, that name.

Silva’s smile twitched, gun moving to caress Q’s curls, trail gently down his cheek. He was so beautiful, and  _new_. Q was everything Bond was becoming, rather than who he had been. “No?” he asked softly, as Bond’s expression quietly betrayed him.

“So pretty, shame to kill him, so young,” Silva murmured, “ _But_ , 007. Thinks with his cock, not with his brain. She was gorgeous and said all the right pretty lies, and he’s scary and new and exciting. You can’t deal with it, hmm? So much  _safer_ , to atone for long-dead sins and pretend you’re being noble.”

"I…" Bond began, but Silva smiled, and shot Q in the back of the head.

-

Bond woke up, breathless. His body was slick with sweat as he panted heavily.

"James?" Q murmured, looking up at his lover through a haze of sleep. "You alright?"

Bond glanced over Q, heart beating frantically against his ribcage. Q smiled exhaustedly, shuffling closer to Bond, hand over his sternum. “You keep doing this,” he murmured, yawning expansively. “I worry about you, you know.”

For a moment, Bond didn’t answer. He tilted Q’s chin upwards gently, and pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering, soft. “I love you,” he said, more for his own confirmation than anything else.

Q smiled, eyes already sliding shut, palm flat against him. “I love you too,” he murmured, as Bond dreamt of gunshots, dark hair, blood-red lips.


	353. Chapter 353

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey i don’t know if you take these kinds of prompts, but can you write something based on the song “Demons” by Imagine Dragons? Or at least the lyrics, because i think it would make the perfect base for a fluffy 00Q fic!! I would love it if you did this, but I already love your writings anyway :3 Please keep writing!!!! –the42ndlaw-of-superwholock

“You’re not the only one.”

Bond glanced at him, quickly, almost sharply. “What do you…?”

Q smiled, sadly, softly. Fingers reached out carefully, brushing his skin, tracing over the eyebrow and ridges of his closed eyes, delving along the height of cheekbone and downwards, resting lightly over his chin. “I see it,” he murmured, Bond now waiting in absolute quiet as Q looked over him. “Me too.”

Somehow, Bond knew. He understood the sung meanings under Q’s voice, but it was suggested, lingering.

“I killed fourteen people in a week, when I started here,” Q told him quietly. “I didn’t pull the triggers, but I ensured that those people were eliminated. My responsibility. It is always my responsibility, and I have those lives in my hands; you know something different, something more immediate, I know. The two are not equitable, but they leave scars.”

An almost-smile flicked over Bond’s expression. “I wish I could take them away,” he admitted, making Q almost laugh.

“Don’t be absurd. We could never work unequally,” he mused. “If you had all the scars you’ve always had, you’d drown anybody else who didn’t understand. It’s too much otherwise.”

“You understand?”

“No,” Q admitted. “Not always. But I understand other things. You don’t understand me, either.”

Bond smiled, kissed him briefly. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I did,” he admitted, making Q snort a little. Q leant in further, kissed him again, harder, deeper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That assumes you can,” Q retorted, hand lacing through Bond’s hair, keeping their lips pressed together, tongue tracing over the edges of teeth, intense and forceful and brilliant. “Arrogant shit. You know you are, yes?”

Chuckling, Bond’s hands squeezed Q’s arse, making him whimper a moment. “Possibly,” he conceded, biting into Q’s lip, the pair of them battling and fighting and arguing and desperate, fists and fingers grabbing and pressing, darkness lingering in their eyes and veins and thrumming out of them in hot, angry scrapes.

The demons lingered beneath the surface, bleak and waiting, and Bond would never lose the fear; but Q fought, Q could battle against the onslaught and never drown, never be lost entirely.

Bond looked into Q’s eyes, and saw a deadness he knew too well.

Their scars matched.

It was enough.


	354. Chapter 354

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a fic where Q has a son. Q was in high school and he had a lesbian friend and he was gay so they made a deal to sleep together just to try it. She accidently got pregnant, but they decided to keep the child and both parent him even though they weren’t together. The son switches between living with his mom and her wife (who he looks at as another mom), but he’s with Q and Bond meets him. I just really want a mini Q. Thanks! – anon

“James, I… look, I have something I need to explain,” Q began.

Really, not the most auspicious of starts; Bond braced himself for the worst, wondering just what manner of bombshell his lover was about to explode, especially after a whole four months of dating and the embarrassing realisation that he may well have actually  _fallen in love_  with his goddamn Quartermaster.

Q sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know… I was in sixth form, about seventeen, realised I was gay. I had a friend, called Liz, and she was… well, she was a lesbian and we both hated it and thought, well, maybe it’s just… try it and see. If that makes sense. So, we tried, with each other I mean… weird, very weird night, very drunk… very drunk, actually… and, erm. She got pregnant. I mean, she’s married now to a wonderful woman, and they have primary custody, but, erm… I have a son. Technically speaking, I mean.”

Bond gaped.

-

Ben was a truly beautiful boy. Really, he appeared to have inherited everything of Q: dark hair, piercing eyes (although brown, rather than green), full lips, pale skin. The beginnings of cheekbones, and a sense of truly blinding sarcasm.

Q had chosen well, in the single woman he had ever decided to have sex with; Liz was frighteningly intelligent, as was her partner, and – with Q’s influence – had raised a precociously brilliant young boy. Q had secondary custody, and saw Ben whenever he could; by all accounts, he had been around more in his young life, but now Ben was in his teenage years and Q was, well,  _Q_ , they had seen each other less.

Bond, quite frankly, adored the teen. In answer to A-level choices, the fifteen-year-old casually informed Bond that he was taking AS Maths a year earlier, intended to have Maths and Further Maths done by the end of the lower sixth, with English, History, Biology and Psychology as his other four.

It was formidable, but Bond could honestly say he believed it possible.

Ben sat back, dark hair falling in his eyes, drinking a mug of Earl Grey and watching Bond through plastic-rimmed frames. “If you hurt my dad, I’ll kill you,” he said, with absolute calm.

 _If you lose this gun, I will kill you_.

Bond just snorted; Q had spawned a goddamn  _clone_.


	355. Chapter 355

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst lover here i have a prompt after a really horrible mission james has so many nightmares and night terrors that he cant take it anymore and Q finds james one morning in the bathroom trying to hang himself and has to fight him to get to the rope to cut it down I know you can do fluff and you are good at it and if you want you can end it fluffy – anon

Q had always expected that, if something like this happened, he would wake with a sense of foreboding. That he would somehow  _know_ , mysteriously, that his lover was hurting. He would rush in, doors would open in slow motion, he would have all the equipment to hand to help and save his lover’s life and that would be that.

As it happened:

Q woke up, yawning. He vaguely noticed that Bond had gone, and assumed an early work call that he’d slept through, and stumbled into the bathroom.

After that, everything was blindingly fast, too fast to follow. Q couldn’t find a fucking thing of any use, and Bond was heavy and refused to be helped, and all Q could think was a white haze of panic, necessity, adrenaline making his vision blur, sobbing as he tried to get Bond down before simply bashing at the shower rail, hanging on it, until it cracked at the wall and sent the rail, curtain, and Bond on top of Q’s head.

Bond was all but unresponsive, even with the rope loose and thrown away, not fighting, not trying in either direction. Q left for a half-second to find a phone, returning to Bond’s side as he called an ambulance, hands shaking out of control but everything else still and calm and quiet, too quiet, and Bond was alive but barely focusing and wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t respond despite Q  _screaming,_  the screaming was him, hollow cries of anger and hurt and devastation and simply not understanding, not being able to connect or understand why.

“You should have left me.”

That was all Bond would say, and Q hit him, loose-fisted punches against his chest as he sobbed, clinging desperately onto his lover while hating him, panic and adrenaline making him gag, retch into the toilet while Bond just  _sat there_ , and waited for death. Waited for life. Waited for something, making no move of his own. He had made his last conscious decision, and had checked out of life or thought, at least for the time being.

Q waited, called out that the ambulance needed to come to the bathroom, slid sideways against the side of the bath in the dust, plastic curtain clammy under his fingers, and let the ambulance workers wrap him in shock blankets and lead him away after his lover.


	356. Chapter 356

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am new in this ship (00Q) and I have fall in love with your writing. You have taught me so much about this bloody ship. Now I am able to understand their relationship. I would like to know who asked the other to move into his flat and how he asked, is something I wanted to know and I think you may be able to answer me. Thank you guys…both of you are awesome. – anon

Q woke up with a luxurious yawn, stretching his back out to a degree that could put contortionists to shame, before re-adhering himself to Bond’s side. He continued to doze happily, Bond’s fingers running lightly through his hair, teasing through the curls as light eked in through the gaps in the curtains.

“Out of interest,” Q asked his lover, through a yawn. “How in the flaming fuck did you get into my flat?”

Bond smiled slightly, kissing the top of Q’s head; Q had returned home to find Bond waiting for him, with an open bottle of wine and his shirt half-undone. The former being emptied led to the latter being removed, and no questions had really been asked beyond that stage.

“I had a key cut,” Bond said with a light shrug, displacing Q accidently; he slid out of the comfy nook of Bond’s shoulder, and picked himself up.

To Bond’s confusion, he didn’t seem very angry. Q just looked at him for a moment, and blinked.

He nestled back into Bond, and sighed. “Well done.”

Bond stayed very, warily still for a moment. “So, you’re not about to kill me for breaking into your flat?” he asked slowly.

Q craned his head up, expression vaguely amused. “I can do, if you’d like, but I don’t want to call MI6 for a cleanup team at this time of day,” he explained contentedly, still mostly asleep as far as Bond could work out. “You’ve been sneak-moving-in for months. I’m just glad you finally took executive action. Eve’s been looking for a new place, I think you should offer yours.”

The pair of them lay together a little longer, Bond trying to get his head around it. “We’re living together, then?”

“Obviously,” Q said lightly, and completely dozed off once again, on  _their bed_. In  _their flat_.

Bond kissed him softly, and smiled into Q’s hair.


	357. Chapter 357

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you’re very busy but could I bother you for a prompt? I’d love to see a Purge AU. Crime is legal for one night a year, and Q is unsure that the security in his flat will be enough to keep him safe this year? Thank you so much <3 <3 <3 – nerdqueen269

Q blocked up everything, doors and windows and every single conceivable opening into his house; he checked each measure for the thousandth time, his own handgun waiting carefully in his lap. One of his own creations, encoded to his palm print; even if they killed him, they wouldn’t be able to take his gun.

The purge was horrific, every year, without fail. Q had been hurt before, beaten before, had his house robbed. Last year, he’d hidden in the attic; the house had been ransacked, but somehow nobody had found him. The year before that was the very bad year. Before  _that_ , he’d been in university; his dorm building was burned almost to the ground, but he had avoided serious injury.

This time, he curled in the locked bathroom. MI6 buildings were targeted as standard, and Quartermaster wasn’t quite a high enough rank to gain immunity. M had immunity – the lucky bastard – as did all of the other branch leaders. It was just Quartermaster and Chief of Staff that weren’t (Tanner was consequently also in hiding), although Q was forcing through paperwork to make it so in future years. This was bloody ridiculous.

He had supplies; the internet would doubtless fall to hell within minutes, but he could still get some programming done, and had drinks and food to last him the full twelve hours. If they tried to burn down the house, Q knew he would probably die – but murders were on a yearly rise. He could make it out, but he would probably get beaten or worse before he got very far.

His handgun would probably be the only option. Burning to death really didn’t appeal.

Within  _half an hour_ , Q heard noise. A lot of noise, the kind of noise that heavily implied that his flat was being broken into; Q wished them luck. He didn’t have anything of any bloody value, other than his laptop.

Then, the taps at his bathroom door.

 _Oh fuck_ , Q breathed to himself, with absolute terror, completely paralysed; he was lying in the bath with a lot of pillows and blankets, the laptop glowing in his face.  _Go away. Please go away. I don’t have anything worthwhile, please, just leave me alone_ …

The door slammed open.

Q grappled for his gun, the laptop sliding off and bashing on the sides of the bath. He didn’t have time; whoever was in the door darted for him, grabbing his wrists. Q _fought_ , battled desperately and screamed, thrashed.

A hand covered his mouth, unbearably tight. “Screaming is likely to attract unwanted attention,” a voice told him.

A  _familiar_  voice.

Q relaxed; the hand retracted gently, cautiously. “Double-oh seven?” Q asked, voice unsteady.  “Are you… fuck. Fuck. What the  _hell_  are you doing here?”

Bond smiled, the laptop light casting eerie shadows over his face. “I’m here to protect my Quartermaster,” he said, with a sideways smile. “You’re not the type to be out there causing hell, and I’ve seen your protection. Good, but not enough to put off teenagers with bloodlust. I’m staying until it’s over.”

It was the most welcome thing Q had heard in years. He slumped in the bath, head spinning, not managing to put up even a token resistance as Bond scooped him up. “No point being in here, they’d track you down anyway. The sofa’s more comfortable, and the news is still running at the moment.”

Q didn’t argue; he just curled against Bond’s front, in absolute shock, and hoped that everything would stop soon.


	358. Chapter 358

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nine year old girl with parents who work lives in the flat next to James and Q. More often than not she ends up with them. Q loves her, they play scrabble and read books and drink tea. James begrudgingly accepts her existence until the night that Q is working late and the girl comes to their flat in tears. – anon

Her name was Mary. An old-fashioned name for such a young child, but her parents were devoutly religious. Not very pleasant, but certainly religious. They were incredibly busy people, who had little time for the child they hadn’t really planned. The mother was some sort of public official, famous in her own circles, while the father was the deputy head of a local grammar.

Mary was a charming girl, very quiet. And Bond had no idea what to do with her.

Q, on the other hand, absolutely adored her. He had thrown the window open wide one evening, inviting her to dance along the balcony and shuffle in, wafting the scent of tea and cupcakes. “You are being, perhaps, a little creepy,” Bond noted, as Q attempted to lure a child into their flat.

Bond blinked, as Q snarled at him, abruptly livid. “It repulses me that  _everybody_ jumps to that conclusion,” he hissed. “It’s friendly. Neighbourly. I could talk to her parents, but I don’t think I’ve ever  _met_  them, and she takes round our parcels once in a while and is a very sweet girl who seems immensely lonely, and I’ve been that child, once, and…”

"Q, calm down."

So, they had started talking. Mary would bring along her homework, her worries and Q would listen and help when he could. Sometimes he would be able to do little other than nod sympathetically and offer her a biscuit, other times he was on hand with a little advise. Bond was always impressed, Q seemed to know exactly what to say.

Bond generally tended to hide somewhere quietly, and hope for the best.

Until, of course, Q was on a fifty-something hour work binge after a nightmare assignment, and Mary darted through the window in a fluid motion, looked around for Q. “Is he here?” she asked, tentatively, eyes huge and damp.

Bond, scared out of his mind, just shook his head slowly.

Mary’s lips trembled, and she burst into tears.

"Oh, erm," Bond tried, looking down at the little girl on his sofa. "Can I get you anything?" he tried, the child curling herself around a pillow.

Bond’s eyes darted around the flat, looking for something to placate her with. “Biscuit? Milk? Ribena?” he offered, as the sobs grew louder. He was quite seriously debating calling Q when finally, Mary spoke.

"She died," she hiccupped, quiet and frantic.

Bond’s body, oddly, relaxed. He knew death. He understood death, and understood what it could do, what it did. “Who?” he asked gently, and shifted slowly to the side of the sofa. He knelt down by her side, placing his hand palm-up on the cushion for her to take if she wanted.

"My granny," she whimpered, and a fresh stream of tears started.

In a single motion, she was hugging him, little arms clasped around his neck and tears dampening his cheek. “Shh,” Bond murmured, stroking her dark hair. “Breathe, Mary, okay?”

"I’m never going to see her again," Mary whispered, pulling away from Bond and retrieving her pillow once again.

Bond nodded, there seemed little point in lying, “No, that’s true,”

"And mummy says she will go to heaven and I will see her when I die, but I don’t…" she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the corner of her jumper. "I don’t understand how that happens."

Bond smiled, very sadly. “I don’t either,” he admitted quietly, really not prepared to discuss religion or the viability of heaven with a mourning nine-year-old. Mary looked at him through huge, pink-rimmed eyes, sniffing. “But - she’s safe. Nothing can hurt her, or make her sad. I lost my parents when I was a little bit older than you, and it… it’s horrible, but you know - I don’t stop loving them. I miss them, but they’re still mine, and I know they’ll always be safe.”

“M’sorry,” Mary mumbled, looking at him forlornly. “Your mummy and daddy.”

Mary curled up against his chest, crying almost inaudibly. “Where are yours?”

“Busy,” she said, sounding horribly lost, very alone.

Bond kissed the top of her head lightly, while her body shook slightly with tears. “Would you like to stay with us tonight?” he offered.

“You can, if you’d like,” Q confirmed, smiling gently from the doorway.

Mary glanced up, expression brightening. She smiled at Bond, who just propelled her forwards and into Q’s arms; he lifted her, making some comment about her getting too big to carry like that, and hauled her onto the sofa with her. “We can make pizzas,” he offered conspiratorially.

Bond looked at Q over Mary’s head, expression softly questioning.

Q just smiled, nodded. “I’d like that,” Mary said quietly from against the pillow she’d made of Q’s chest. “Thank you.”


	359. Chapter 359

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey- love your stories! Can you do one where James has to deal with the fact that Q isn’t going to die after they have sex the first time? Like, he goes into MI6 a few days after and is genuinely surprised Q is there? – anon

“Good afternoon, double-oh seven,” Q said brightly.

Bond just stood in the doorway, staring strangely at him. Q glanced over him with faint amusement, eyebrow raised eloquently. He stayed there for a surprisingly long while.

Q blinked. “… can I help?”

Shaking his head slowly, Bond continued to stare. “You’re not dead.”

It wasn’t the oddest thing Q had ever heard from a double-oh agent. 006 had once happily announced that his barracuda was dead; Q had just smiled lightly, and asked whether or not he could borrow the fishtank. A genuine question, as it happened; Q was testing some shock pods, to be target drops in bodies of water, and needed a decent-size tank.

Alec had shrugged, and told Q to pick it up Tuesday.

He’d also handed over a fish steak, which Q had taken one look at, and quietly disposed of.

“I’m quite certainly not dead, no,” he agreed, looking over himself, wondering what had sparked that particular statement. “Should I be?”

Bond shrugged. “Quite possibly. People usually are, afterwards.”

Q took a moment to really appreciate that statement. The fullness of that statement, the notable repercussive effects of that statement. The fact that James Bond had honest-to-god expected him to be absent, replaced by R, with no further sign that he had ever existed. “Close the door,” Q said quietly.

Bond acquiesced. Q, meanwhile, crossed to the door; Bond had enough time to look vaguely startled before Q slammed him against it, kissing him with enough force to make him dizzy. “I’m not dying,” he said firmly, almost angrily, breath hot in Bond’s mouth. “I’m not planning to die in the imminent future, and have safeguards in place to avoid it. No fucking excuses.”

“I didn’t look for excuses…”

Q wrenched his head forward by his hair – just – and stared at him for a long moment. “Good,” he said simply, softly. The grip turned gentle again, losing the edge of possessiveness, of want, need. “Alright. You stay with me, James Bond, and I’ll stay with you.”

Bond tilted his head to one side slightly, eyes narrowed. “You’re very devoted, very quickly.”

Q let go of him, sauntered back to his desk with a somewhat enigmatic expression. “I know what I like, and I keep it,” he stated succinctly, and sat lightly back in his chair.

He began typing. Bond watched.

“I’m done,” Q said trillingly; Bond shook his head, amused and annoyed by the damn man, who wasn’t even  _looking up_. “Goodbye, James. Are you going to invite me to dinner, or what?”

Bond grinned. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“Eight, Bond, I’m busy.” Q’s eyes snapped up, green and electric and alive. “Until then.”


	360. Chapter 360

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q have been married for almost 2 years, but one day James loses his wedding ring and he is afraid of Q reaction. – anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lex

James was all but pulling up the floorboards when Q arrived home. The house look like a small bomb site. Draws yanked out and their contents scattered, pillows everywhere and R cowering in the corner, miaowing frantically.

Q rushed to the cat first, picking her up and almost getting scratched to pieces.

"James, what the hell is going on?" Q asked, trying in vain to calm first cat then husband.

"I am, god Q I am so sorry," Bond told him, eyes snapping upwards as Q entered. He looked shattered, dark circles reaching halfway down his cheeks and hair stuck at odd angles.

"What’s happened?" Q asked, stomach sinking, R was having none of it. She scrabbled, diving out of Q’s arms and heading for the door.

"Please don’t be angry, god I am so sorry…" Bond repeated, fingers to his temple. "I  _knew_ I took it off before Paris, but I can’t find it!”

"Find what?" Q asked, more than a little concerned that his lover was having a long over-due mental break down.

"My ring Q! My wedding ring!" he managed, punching a hand against the dresser. "I was in France, I’m sure I had it, but then I don’t know - there was gunfire and…"

Q opened his mouth to interrupt, when Bond cut him off. “So I hoped maybe I had left it here, but I can’t find it and I am so,  _so_  sorry.” Bond panted, looking around the messy remains of their living room. “I feel awful, I would never be careless with it, everything happened so fast and…why are you laughing?” he asked, as Q bit his lip to supress a giggle.

"Calm down! For god’s sake man, you’ll have a heart attack," Q teased. "It’s fine, really - these things happen and…"

"You don’t lose it though do you? It means the world to me Q, you mean the world to me…"

"I know," Q smiled, holding Bond’s bare hand with his own. "And you have an active and dangerous job, in which you have to go to many places and do many things…"

"But it’s no excuse…"

"Which is exactly why I had three duplicates made," Q finished, kissing a stunned Bond on the nose. "James you travel around the  _world_  you use weaponry, heavy machinery, rings are impractical and bound to go missing. So I had some more made - just in case.”

Bond stared at him, too shocked to speak. In the end he settled for hugging the younger man, kissing his head furiously. “I love you,” he managed, as Q almost choked.

"I know, you daft sod," Q replied, pulling away slightly. "Though if you really want to apologise, I have the evening off and had a nightmare day, so those lips would really be appreciated elsewhere…"


	361. Chapter 361

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write Bond meeting Q’s family? I just think it could be so cute and awkward~ thank you so much

Q knocked on the door, standing back, pulling his cardigan sleeves over his hands. “This is going to be horrible,” he mumbled. “Very horrible. Absolutely horrible. I don’t even want to think how much so. Fuck. Just,  _fuck_. Why did I agree to this?”

Bond smiled, kissed Q gently on the forehead. “It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “Really.”

The door swung open, and a teenage girl poked her head around. “PDA’s already, mummy will be delighted,” she noted sarcastically; Q rolled his eyes, batting at the girl as she ducked back into the house. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready – you’re bloody  _late_.”

“Language,” yelled another voice, from further inside the house; the teenager yelled back an apology.

Q heaved a sigh. “Bloody hell, here goes,” he muttered, and stepped inside.

Bond and Q were immediately accosted by a rakish man, tall and dark-haired, almost a spitting image of Q. He looked Bond up and down, grinned, extended a hand. “You did well,” he smirked at his son, shook Bond’s hand, and sauntered into what was presumably the dining room.

“Do we follow?” Bond asked quietly; Q grinned, and gestured him forwards.

Q’s mother didn’t look even faintly related. Short, quite rotund, blonde hair to her chin. Q had her eyes, though; a piercing green, sparked and eloquent and angled. “You must be James,” she said happily, pulling the admittedly startled double-oh agent into a hug. “We’ve all been dying to meet you, Q’s told us so much…”

“We still have to call you Q?” the teenager asked disparagingly.

Bond grinned, Q rolling his eyes. “Unless you want to get taken in by a pair of bona fide MI6 agents, I’d say yes,” he told her sharply; Bond could literally see years of tension in both of them, a childhood of confrontation. “James, this is Vivian.”

“Call me that again,  _Q_ , and I’ll kick you in the balls,” she retorted at Q, before turning to Bond. “I’m V. I had an initial long before ‘Q’ did. Sorry, I should be being a lot more polite; it’s actually nice to meet you. Q keeps calling about his impossibly hot boyfriend…”

Q sucked in a breath, indicative of his dwindling temper. “V, that’s enough,” Q’s mother chastised; she dusted flour off her hands, extending one to Bond. “Hello. I’m Laura, and my charming and uncharacteristically quiet husband is Andy. You’re not allergic to anything, are you? I forgot to ask.”

Bond shook his head, smiling; it was good to see a family dynamic, like this. He realised – in an odd way – that he’d missed it; parents and siblings griping, involved in a collection of people that worked as a singular organism. They also seemed quite happy to welcome him; they all asked insistent questions about his life, family, bantering back and forth amongst one another before shooting quips at Bond and Q, laughing, bickering.

Laura was also a truly brilliant cook.

Q glanced at Bond, raised an eyebrow.

Bond just grinned.


	362. Chapter 362

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ive always checked on your update religiously! How about Bond got drugged in mission & it makes him change his personality everytime he’s kissed (to very shy weak sensitive). Q & mi6 try to handle shy bond. Make it comically funny please :> \- anon

Q really, truly didn’t mean to.

He just kissed Bond, just to say hello after a very long mission which had been relatively trying for everybody concerned and anyway, Q was still working because 003 had been on a pressing mission, and nothing had slowed down in so long, which was getting stressful. He had pulled Bond in, kissed him like it was a first time, passionate and deep and something Bond could hold onto over the next couple of days while Q finished work.

Bond blushed.

And  _giggled_.

Everybody in Q-branch turned, in very slow motion, to look at him. “James?” Q asked slowly, sounding a little bit frightened around the edges. “Are you… alright?”

Bond smiled stupidly, fingers reaching out, stroking along Q’s sleeve while his expression turned utterly incredulous. “I’m good,” Bond said lightly, smiling like a slightly tipsy teenage girl. “I’m very good. You’re  _pretty_.”

Q looked around Q-branch helplessly, wondering if somebody was about to yell  _April Fool_  and belatedly remembering that it was September. “James, erm…” he caught R’s eye; she held up the phone, mouthing  _medical?_  “Have you debriefed? Seen anybody?”

R was speaking in a low voice, while Bond  _nuzzled_  into Q’s shoulder. “Q, 003…?” somebody muttered from behind.

“Drug panel came through; there’s something in his system,” R called, looking the pair up and down. “Triggered by sexual arousal, it would seem, we’ve seen this stuff before… Q, you only kissed him, right?”

Q sighed out. “He hasn’t been getting any since he left?” he tried, slightly concerned that his own sexual power was quite so potent.

Bond sighed, nibbling at Q’s earlobe. “Somebody work out what to do with him,” Q pleaded, kissing Bond absentmindedly on top of his head to try and placate him. “When does it wear off? Will it wear off?! James, love, just… stop, a second. I’m busy, okay darling?”

“Darling?” R asked, in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

Q’s eyes snapped up, livid. “Mention it again, and I’ll decimate your credit rating,” he hissed, brushing hair out of Bond’s eyes as he  _draped_ , dropping kisses across Q’s face and torso.

He pulled Bond up. “Come on. My office,” he coaxed, as Bond embarrassedly avoided anybody else’s gazes. “Okay, James? Come on.”

It didn’t wear off for two days.

Q-branch had blackmail material for the rest of their lives.


	363. Chapter 363

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! I was wondering if you could do a 00Q figure skating AU, in which Q is the young, absolutely brilliant newest star to take the world by storm, and Bond the defending champion, or something to that effect? Or you could have them work together in pairs skating, whichever you prefer. Thank you very much! – ladyofcairparavel

Everybody in the skating world knew of Q, these days. A beautiful boy, feminine and elegant and breathtakingly strong, a cross between the fluid beauty of the female skaters and the power of the male; he swept into one competition after another, and managed to acquire six after six after six, sweeping the board.

Bond was an extraordinary skater, but frankly, getting on in age terms. Q was barely eighteen, Bond in his mid-twenties; strong, and known for his traditional excellence across all aspects of skating.

The news whipped around; Q was looking for a partner, for competitions, and for a potential showcase of his own. His reputation preceded him; he was headlining at figure skating performances, and wanted to try something new.

There was nothing to be lost.

Bond’s agent called him later that same day, saying that Q had been in contact, that he wanted to meet with regards to a potential partnership. There would be no chance of working in competitions, but it would be something new and different and  _exciting_. Irresistible, really.

They met on the rink, naturally. Q was already circling, toelooping, flying axles through the air and landing with impeccable grace. Bond simply joined; Q noticed his space being consumed, and the pair worked in counterpoint for a moment, testing parameters, assessing the motion and eloquence and learning to move with it.

Naturally, they didn’t try anything too much ambition without discussing or goddamn practise, but there were certain moves they could test and try. “Alright then,” Q said after a point, gliding to a stop. “I think this is manageable.”

Bond grinned, only stopping an inch from Q’s face, looking over the immense beauty of the boy in front of him. He had a female following that truly defied belief, making skating mainstream simply because teenagers had him plastered over their rooms and reblogged infinite pictures of him across social media sites.

Honestly, Bond could see why.

“I agree,” he purred.

Q just grinned.


	364. Chapter 364

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After watching Skyfall on a several hour flight, I have a request. Please have James help Q with his flying phobia with ‘positive reinforcement’. Like he gets scared so Bond will hold him, then kiss him, then eventually mile high club please? – theanimecharacterreview

Q shook, trembling in his seat, trying very hard to cling onto his sanity and not cry like a small child. They were on a private chartered jet, tons of space, and no embarrassment concerned with Q barely holding himself together. “I don’t want to do this,” he said quietly, knuckles white, balled fists. “James, I don’t think I can do this.”

Bond reached out, a hand carefully on Q’s leg, stroking softly. “You’ll be alright,” he soothed, reaching over to gently kiss Q’s temple, trying to calm him as best he could. “I promise, it’ll be fine. Breathe.”

Q closed his eyes, hand seeking Bond’s. Bond’s fingers tightened, holding him, waiting for the seatbelt sign to switch off so he could gather his terrified lover into his arms.

Takeoff was not a good experience. Bond very nearly lost all sensation in his fingers. Q _just_  managed to avoid tears, careening sideways into Bond, body crumpled inwards. “I fucking hate you,” he muttered, breathing carefully, steadily. “Jesus, James. Why am I doing this?”

Bond kissed the top of his head. “Holiday,” he reminded gently. “We need this, Q, and we’re doing it. Alright?”

Q shook his head, refusing to come out from Bond’s arms; the seatbelt sign clicked off, and Q essentially clambered straight into his lap, and stayed there. “Still hate you,” he mumbled.

A moment later, he let out a happy, small purr; Bond’s lips, a graze of teeth, sucking slightly at the sensitive skin under his ear. It seemed to be a rather effective distraction, a way of shifting Q’s attention to something outside the realms of his fear. “But you like that, hmm?” he coaxed, a low breath in Q’s ear.

The tension in Q’s body started to relax a little, and he nuzzled into Bond’s chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, flushing a light shade of pink. “You’re… keep going?”

Bond grinned, making Q whine slightly, writhing against his lap. “Mad thing,” he purred, hands tracking over Q’s body lightly. “Fuck Q, you’re gorgeous. Just gorgeous.”

“I’m being pathetic,” Q murmured, kissing every part of Bond he could reach. “Now distract me, Mr Bond.”

Bond’s hand slipped lower, cupping Q’s groin, squeezing gently; he was half hard already, and Q groaned obscenely. “Willingly,” Bond growled, stroking, kissing Q breathless. 


	365. Chapter 365

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s quite a while before James realises that relationship-wise he didn’t hear Q saying ‘no’, to anything. Basically insecure!Q and how James deals with it (maybe double-ohs aren’t that understanding and sensitive how they’re portrayed? no matter how much of a dick he is, they will make up, right?) – anon

“Dinner?”

 

Q looked up, finding Bond in the doorway; he smiled happily, relaxing the tension. “Yeah,” he agreed, smiling sideways.

Bond smirked back, usual arrogance firmly in place. “Where?”

A small shrug. “Don’t mind. You choose.”

Bond sighed, looking immediately a little sobered. He stepped into Q’s office properly, and closed the door; Q looked up in evident confusion. “Alright,” Bond began, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Q, is there any particular reason why you adamantly don’t give any opinions on anything? Or disagree? You’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever known, and yet you never argue with me.”

For a moment, Q looked like he was going to argue; Bond shot him an almost-patented glare, and Q visibly sighed. “It’s nothing,” he sighed. “I just… I’m sorry, I’m just aware that I’m grimly out of your league. I don’t want to piss you off. So yes, I’m being a little over-compensatory. I’m sorry…”

He trailed off, seeing the irritation in Bond’s expression. “Oh, for god’s sake,” he snapped. “I want to date  _you_ , not a wilting teenager with self esteem issues…”

“Oh, fuck off,” Q retorted, angry, utterly defensive. “I tell you something like that, and you accuse me of being a petulant child? You fuck  _everything_ , usually female – I’m not your normal type…”

“ _Precisely_ ,” Bond growled. “Why do you think I  _want you_. Not some sycophant.”

Q was all but trembling, with anger, with worry. “You want me to be some… sarcastic bastard? You won’t like it.”

“I beg to differ,” Bond said simply. “Really. Try it, and maybe this will go a bit better. You would never have been able to lie forever.”

Bond rolled his eyes at Q’s raised eyebrow, the evident scepticism. “Try me,” he returned, still angry, but beginning to calm a little. He let out a long, controlled breath. “Okay. Fine. Dinner’s good. I really like Indian. Eight?”

It was actually rather gratifying, to see Bond’s smirk.

He nodded eloquently, and disappeared.


	366. Chapter 366

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Love your prompts!!! I have one: James and Q go to Mexico and James proposes to Q on Teotihuacan’s pyramids :D Thanks :D – anon

It had been one hell of a flight.

In practise, Q didn’t really manage to calm down for the duration; Bond had needed to get him rather drunk, and even then, he had been distinctly unhappy with the whole affair.

Although, it had to be said; it was worth it.

Mexico had a certain tang in the air, an atmosphere. The food was also truly fantastic, very much the kind of thing Q enjoyed; Bond took no small pleasure in showing Q his favourite places, from the various times he had been in Mexico. Q drank in all of it with tangible wonder.

Teotihuacan’s pyramids were something else. Q’s eyes widened almost comically at the sight of them; a lifetime avoiding air travel had meant great deficits in his exposure to history, naked history like this. Bare bricks and dusty air, the sight of a world lost.

Q stood, surveying a world, a delicate wonder in his expression that Bond absolutely adored. They had arrived at the crack of dawn, the sun beginning to slowly filter into the sky, bleeding light.

He fished around in his pocket, the thin circle disproportionately heavy as he closed his hand around it. “Q,” he said quietly, reaching his other hand out to snake around his lover’s lower back, the way he knew Q liked.

Q hummed, a small smile lighting his expression, peaceful.

“I love you,” Bond said simply. He stepped into Q’s immediate sightline, a distraction for a moment, keeping Q’s bright green eyes fixed on his. Q opened his mouth, stalled by Bond’s expression. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The sun crawled higher, and Q nodded, expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “Me too,” he said quietly, wondering where Bond was going.

Bond moved the ring up, holding it between them, gaze steady as Q broke off to look at the ring. His lips fell open, the full implication immediate. “Q – will you marry me?” he asked.

For a moment, Q was rendered utterly speechless.

“Yes,” he said, stunned. “Fuck.  _Yes_ , of course I will. Yes. Always.”

He threw himself forward, into Bond’s arms; his arms circled, holding him close, almost crushing him with sheer joy. “I love you,” Bond said again, intense and passionate and  _brilliant_ , the sun shattering over the sky, over the ground around them. Bond slid the ring over Q’s finger, visibly ecstatic.

“I love you too,” Q replied, an answer, their breath mingling, looking at his ring and James and  _everything_. “Oh,  _god_ , James, I love you too.”


	367. Chapter 367

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I really love your 00Q fics! Can I give you a choice of two prompts, in case you’ve done something similar before? Both Criminal!Q: Either Q uses his hacking skills for bad instead of good, and Bond is sent to track him down, or Bond is a successful millionaire and Q is trying to get into his life in order to steal his money and identity, but ends up falling for him instead. – anon

Q’s eyes narrowed, surveying the CCTV footage, his other screens scrolling through statements and various incoming, outgoing, stock market figures on a tertiary screen and everything glowing in the otherwise-darkness of his ‘workshop’.

It had been going so well. He had tracked James Bond to the minutiae of his life, knew his schedules, everything. The ‘accidental’ spilled drink in the club had been excellent, and mercifully led to an almost-introduction; Bond hadn’t quite fallen immediately, but returning to the club had allowed their paths to cross once again.

This time, he had a number, and a date. So far, so successful.

Bond was spectacularly good-looking, something Q was far from oblivious about. Dating him – even falsely – was a true pleasure.

The problem was that Q was aware that it was almost  _too_  pleasurable. He continually found himself checking his phone for messages, imagining Bond’s smile, distracted by the shade of his eyes.

It was not a good thing.

Q shook his head, trying to dislodge his own thoughts.  _Absurd_. He was a grown man, could control his own damned sex drive, especially where a mark was concerned. Running an elaborate con while genuinely  _attracted_  to his victim was a spectacularly bad plan.

 _Bad plan_ , Q repeated insistently, catching himself watching Bond on CCTV like an adolescent stalker with too much technology at his fingertips.  _No, seriously. Bad plan. Stop staring_.

He looked so good in suits, though.

Q rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, lifting his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose; Bond had teased him for that quirk, the way his glasses looked on the top of his head, and they had shared a joke while Q nursed his tea and Bond downed a shot of espresso like a professional caffeine junkie.

Bond texted, invited Q to dinner, and Q stared at his phone and grinned like a bloody _teenager_  and hated everything about himself and James Bond and the stupid goddamn plan that made him think robbing Bond was a good idea in the first place.

Oh, he was so fucked.

Q flopped forward onto his keyboard, face first, and moaned.


	368. Chapter 368

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellow my dear! Prompt : Q has a lot of scars after the kidnapping. Bond don’t care about that but Q is terrified that James will leave him. hurt/past abuse/comfort. protective!James and hurt!Q. Happy ending, please. Thank you. – shipimpala

Q was curled in the corner of their sofa, loose clothes hanging off a worryingly thin frame, bandages poking out the edges. He looked terribly small, fragile, in a way that didn’t fit with his usual persona; the arrogant confidence was subdued into something barely recognisable.

He kept watching Bond, eyes oddly large now he’d shrunk a little, visibly worried about something Bond couldn’t reach.

Bond hadn’t even been there. Q was abducted, Bond was banned from the mission on the grounds of being too-close and emotional; M sent him on a mission in Peru, while Alec – the only other agent Bond truly trusted – went after their Quartermaster.

The moment Q was found, Bond brought the mission to a close. It was not his most professional move, but he had been known to do worse – and in any case, Q badly needed him. His captors had been creative, to put it mildly.

Q stayed quiet as Bond sat on the edge of the sofa, hand reaching out towards his lover; Q smiled slightly, slipping his hand into Bond’s. “Are you alright?” Bond asked quietly, looking over him.

“James…” Q managed, expression contorting slightly in on itself. “I… you don’t have to be here, if you don’t want to be. I just, I don’t want you to feel compelled…”

Bond shook his head, squeezing Q’s hand gently. “Q, I’m here because I want to be,” he said honestly.

For a minute or two, Q was utterly silent. “It’s all going to scar,” he murmured, just keeping himself together. “I’m… fuck. James, I know I’m not going to be…”

Bond didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt. He kept his hand linked with Q’s, and waited for him to finally let go of whatever had been visibly haunting him.

“I’m scared you won’t find me attractive any more,” Q told him, in a voice that was a bare whisper.

 _Oh_ , Bond thought, annoyed at the fact that it hadn’t even occurred to him. The thought had never, not once, crossed his mind.

Words were pointless; Q wouldn’t believe them. Instead, he brought Q’s hand up to his chest; under his shirt, the pucker of his own scars. The gunshot wound, the vertical gashes, the abrasions and marks and everything, the patchwork skin of a life he could never abandon. He left Q’s hand there, moving instead to gently stroke over Q’s skin; the softness of his face, the mottling of dark bruises over his throat, over the edges of the bandages that hid so much hurt.

“You are perfect,” Bond said simply, softly. His hand cupped Q’s head, smiling slightly. “Your brain is intact, you are still clever and irritating and obnoxious. You’re still overwhelmingly beautiful. I don’t care. However you are. For god’s sake, if scars were a problem, you should have run a long way from me.”

Q’s fingers tightened slightly against Bond’s chest. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted.

Bond pulled him close, wrapping arms around him in a loose knot, keeping him safe. “You won’t,” he promised, nose buried in Q’s curls, kissing him gently. “I promise, you won’t.”


	369. Chapter 369

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Trans!Q. He tells Bond about it when things start to get more physical between them, slightly ashamed that he won’t have the ‘right parts’ to please him. Bond accepts him for it. – anon

Bond laid him down, kissing every inch of his body, all but worshipping him with mouth and tongue and teeth. Q writhed up against him, full force, intense and desperate. “God, James,” he murmured, against his throat, eyes half-fluttering.

That was, until the moment Bond’s hand started to skim further down, moving to his groin.

Q’s hand darted out, stalling him. “I need to tell you something,” he said, gritting his teeth slightly, absolutely  _terrified_  of how in the hell he was going to conduct this conversation passably. “James… look, I’ll understand if you’re unhappy, just…”

Bond sat up, pulling Q with him. To be honest, he had expected some type of conversation of this nature; Q had been noticeable reticent about anything sexual since they had been together. Bond had anticipated any number of stories.

“I’m… I was born female,” Q said, swallowing, watching Bond intently. “I’ve been through hormone therapy and everything, ages ago, but I never had the bottom surgery. I had top surgery, but I was never exactly… sorry, that’s probably too much information to chuck in one go. I… I do understand. If you don’t… I mean, I’m just worried. You’ve been with a lot of people… you’re known for your sexual prowess, and I’m scared I’ll disappoint…”

Bond held up a hand, stilling the rush of word. “Q,” he said calmly, smiling very slightly. “I really don’t care what’s between your legs. I don’t mean that in a bad way. It just doesn’t  _matter_. I want to make you feel incredible, and I’m sure you will me – you’re handsome, and if you’re happy, I’d like to be more intimate with you.”

Q blinked, and made a small noise of incoherent surprise.

Bond laughed. “Honestly, Q, did you think I’d be that judgemental?” he laughed. “True, I didn’t see this coming in the slightest. I’m just glad it’s not some suppressed childhood trauma – that’s a harder thing to work around. You’re male, as far as I’m concerned, genitals notwithstanding.”

Q was still faintly startled, as Bond pressed a slow kiss to his lips. He returned it a heartbeat later, breathing into it, body curving closer to him; Bond’s hands started their exploration again, gentle and loving. “Let me know if you’re uncomfortable,” he murmured, tongue flicking over pulse points.

“Don’t stop,” Q murmured, and the pair set each other alight.


	370. Chapter 370

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond´s file is very dark. In the file you can find the truth about Bond´s past. His parents were professional agents from MI6. After James was born, MI6 send assassins to kill Bond parents. Why? Your choice. One day both James and Q find out about the truth. Angst please. – anon

Q read through the files, eyebrows contracting with concern, scanning through the document with something like confusion.

It couldn’t be. There had to be some form of mistake.

Extensive research began in earnest; Q backtracked logs, mission files, even went through the paper files which still existed from the era that hadn’t been computerised in full despite Q’s constant insistence that they needed to be.

Thumbing through papers, shaking his head slightly. Andrew and Monique Bond, ex-agents for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, both reported dead in an incident in the Alps. That much, at least, was expected.

What was definitely  _not_  expected was that MI6 had ordered their deaths.

“James?” Q called; he was outside Q’s office, busy chatting to R and a couple of other Q-branch kids. Bond appeared after a moment, looking curious and smiling slightly in that way that was all Q’s, a smile that spoke of so much.

It faded almost instantly when he saw Q’s expression. “What’s happened?” he asked sharply, moving to Q’s side, noting the piles of paper.

_James Bond_

“What…?”

Q was breathing oddly, evidently in some form of shock. “James, you should probably sit down for this,” he said carefully, looking at his lover with wide eyes, shock evident in every line of his expression. Bond sat. “I… your parents.”

Bond’s expression closed off completely, in an instant. “Yes?” he asked, voice a little cold, a little sharp.

“MI6 ordered their deaths,” Q told him, with an awe-inspiringly quiet voice. “They… they were suspected of passing on information to the Russians, and MI6 couldn’t take the chance, and… there was no defining evidence, but… I know you thought it an _accident_ …”

“I did,” Bond returned before Q could get another word out.

Q breathed out, shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, gesturing at the papers. “I saw an anomaly. I checked it out. I thought you should know.”

Bond nodded, military, none of Q’s Bond left there in the slightest. “I should have known a long while ago,” he said coldly. “Excuse me, Q. I have to speak to M.”

With that, he disappeared, leaving Q to wonder what in the hell he had just unleashed.


	371. Chapter 371

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’ve been meaning to draw this but I’ve been swamped lately, so I was wondering if you’d write this as well. Based on the Final Fantasy job class system, Bond is a Dragoon, Q is a Scholar and Alec is a Red Mage. They are travelling together as a party, and they have adventures. Bond and Q get hanky panky during one of their stays in an inn after Q got injured after a battle with a monster. Alec is just jealous that he couldn’t join in. Thank you in advance! – exploding-pens

"Stop whining," Bond chuckled as Q let out a low groan. His leg was bound tightly, the bandages doing their work, while he sipped at a potion that would supposedly remove the pain and assist healing.

"It’s foul," Q muttered, flicking through his book with a free hand. "Shouldn’t have added the lavender…" he murmured, making a note in the margin.

"How’s it feeling?" Bond asked, looking to the wound.

Q shrugged, “Itching, so healing.”

Alec was next door; the inn worked on double beds and they couldn’t afford three rooms. He was sulking a bit that he couldn’t stay with Q; there had been a coin toss between the two of them when Q wasn’t looking. Bond won, and had been childishly delighted.

Q sighed, flicking his hand; the book in front of him vanished with a quiet  _poof_. “Well I won’t be moving much this evening,” Q commented, as Bond stretched, large shoulders crunching as he rolled them.

"I don’t see that to be much of a problem," Bond smirked, raising an eyebrow. Q looked back, blinking slightly, mouth opening in a quiet  _oh_  of surprise and realisation.

-

Really, it had only been a matter of time, Alec thought to himself. Annoying though it was, Bond and Q had been flirting unapologetically for days.

"Oh  _James_!” he heard, followed up by keens, grunts. The walls were, apparently, very thin.

Alec rolled over, debating getting up and joining the group of mages down at the bar. This was simply not  _fair_. He liked Q just as much as Bond did, and if it weren’t for the damn room swap, it would be  _him_  eliciting those noises from Q’s lips.

Well, maybe not. But he could have had a decent attempt.

"Harder,  _please_ , oh there, right  _there_!” Q was moaning, followed by the grunts of a happy James Bond.

Alec sat up, grabbing his sword and sharpening stone, he attempted to drown them out with a steady scrape of the blade.

He knew he should have rigged the damn coin.


	372. Chapter 372

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arranged marriage where Mr. Bond and Q have fairly pleasurable bedroom encounters and separate bedrooms are unheard of for the first few months. Q thinks their honeymoon phase has passed and his husband would like to be left to his own devices but he soon discovers that James is an amorous lover all the time. Not that Q minds in the least. – anon

Q lay happily in Bond’s arms.  _Commander_  Bond’s arms.

To be honest, there were infinite worse options than Bond; he had imagined some older man,  _much_  older, stuffy and boring and nowhere near as sexually adept as his frankly _gorgeous_  newfound husband.

Months had passed; they had been expected from the outset to share a bed, to be very sexually active. Gossip would begin otherwise, beginning with the servants and spreading outwards – it was an indication that there was discord, if they did not stay in close proximity through the first six months or so.

After that, everybody scaled back. It was common for couples to move into separate beds, use their own space and remain together but apart.

Q was honestly going to miss him.

Only, the thing was – six months, trickling into seven, into eight – Bond didn’t seem to want to leave. He made no move towards sleeping apart, no other beds, no other rooms. He just – inexplicable –  _stayed_ , content to enjoy every moment with Q.

It was bizarre, and welcome.

“James,” he murmured, one night, wrapped in blankets and Bond’s arms. “James… I was just wondering…”

Bond looked at him sharply, sadly, and sighed. “You want to move into a separate bed?” he pre-empted, seeming genuinely upset by the prospect. “Well. I did wonder if you would. I do understand…”

Q held up a hand, shaking his head slightly. “No,” he said quickly. “No.  _God,_  no, that is not what I intended. I just wanted to ensure that you weren’t… that there was no _obligation_ …”

To Q’s surprise, and admittedly happiness, Bond smirked. “Do you really think it’s an _obligation_ , to stay in bed with you?” he asked rhetorically, noting Q’s faint flush. “It’s my absolute pleasure. If, of course, you are comfortable.”

Speechless, Q was only able to nod for a while, wondering what earth he had slipped into that a man like  _James Bond_  wanted to share a bed indefinitely. Was disappointed, in fact, when he thought Q was suggesting it. “Yes,” he managed, when words had returned. “God,  _yes_.”


	373. Chapter 373

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been reading for ages and love everything to date! I’ll also offer up a 00Q prompt idea: Q has a secret love of hip hop and street dancing, its a creative outlet and a good way to untangle tricky code. But he gets caught dancing in Q Branch by Bond. Would love for this to be fluffy romance with a bit of humor (the song that inspired this: “Take It Off” by Ke$ha). – anon

Bond watched from the doorway with sheer amusement, and more than a little bit of admiration.

Music played from various speakers, Q-branch minions happily oblivious or simply accustomed to Q’s eccentricities; the eccentricity, apparently, being that Q was a shockingly good dancer. “Well. Somebody has hidden shallows.”

Q glanced at him sharply, eyes widening for a moment, movement stilling. “Good evening, 007,” he said, with as much decorum as he could muster. “Welcome to Q-branch at night. We put night bloggers to shame. How can I help you?”

“You’re good,” Bond noted, with interest. “ _Really_  good, actually.”

For a moment, Q looked utterly confused. “Sorry?” he managed.

“I’m contemporary, out of choice, but can still do ballet at a push,” he mused, moving closer to Q;  _now_  the minions were staring, but making valiant efforts at pretending they weren’t. “That could be a useful skill, you realise?”

Q stared, like a rabbit caught in headlights for a brief moment. “I will never dance in public, Bond,” he stated flatly. “You have my absolute assurance of that fact.”

-

“If you ever mention this to another living soul, I will castrate you,” Q told Bond firmly, dressed up dance regalia; they were both undercover, after Bond had ‘let slip’ that Q was a very good dancer and thus was  _perfect_  for this manner of assignment.

Q would probably never forgive him, but Bond could live with that as long as the Quartermaster didn’t stop sleeping with him.

Bond hooked him against the wall. Seconds, before Q and Bond needed to move onto the floor. “You’re a beautiful dancer,” he said firmly, quietly, with utter intimacy. “You have nothing to worry about. They’ll love you. And if they don’t, I do anyway.”

Q’s mouth framed  _what?_

The music swelled, Bond took Q’s hand, and tugged him out into the lights.


	374. Chapter 374

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! So sorry I’m making another sort of gaming inspired prompt. E3 man, what a year. Anyway, so Nintendo announced the new Fairy Pokemon type recently. Dragon types are weak against Fairy types. Fairy types are weak against Poison and Steel type. So my prompt is that Q is a fairy and Bond is a dragon (though both very humanoid-looking) with strengths and weaknesses based on the Pokemon specs above. Dragon-fairy relationships vary, some hate each other, some are ok with other. Likewise[…][…]with Dragons and other Dragons, and Fairies with other Fairies. Bond and Q meet somehow and Bond finds himself weak to this fairy in a different way too. Q gets attacked with Poison/Steel by an enemy fairy later. Bond has to fight the enemy fairy who is specs-wise stronger than Bond. Thank you in advance! – exploding-pens

Bond lay against the rock, body exposed to the sunlight. He breathed, ribcage expanding and contracting under scales and skin. The wings were an issue in his morning ritual; he would attempt to fold them out the way, but he could never quite get comfy.

He drank in the heat, blood warming slowly after his sleep. Smoke coiled from his nostrils, wafting out in front of bright blue eyes. He flexed his fingers, regaining feeling slowly as his muscles woke up. It would have been an entirely pleasant morning were it not for the blow to his gut a few seconds later.

He fell to the floor, coughing at the sheer force of it. A moment later he was battle ready, casting his gaze about for the aggressor. On top of his rock, his favourite rock, sat a small nymph; humanoid, with greenish skin and strange slanted eyes.

The creature winked, placed it’s hands together and blew a flurry of stars from between his fingers. Bond watched them, until they struck him in the head, the exposed belly, drawing thin lines of blood.

The fairy chuckled, dark curls falling around his shoulders as he watched Bond struggle to his feet. “Off,” he grunted, wings spreading to their fullest extent. The fairy tilted its head, only for a wicked grin to spread.

"No, I think I’ll stay actually. Nice spot, plenty of sunshine, views not too bad either," he replied, the golden circlet on his forehead shimmering in the morning light.

Bond found himself chuckling at the boy’s antics. “Share?” he asked, as the fairy shifted around so he was lying back.

He looked to Bond, eyebrow raised. “If you must.”

This continued for a few weeks, each morning Bond would go to his rock, only to find the fae already there, swanning around. He had grown fond, more than fond, of the boy; it was becoming increasing tempting to proposition him.

Until he was gone.

Bond searched despite himself; they were fickle creatures, it could be that he had simply found another being to irritate. As he returned he heard a small mewling noise from near the lake, he kicked off, wings extending as he glided. Sure enough, his fairy was there, curled in a small ball. His skin was tinged an odd purple, and their were lacerations up his arms.

"They just…" He sniffed, thumbing over his wounds. "No warning!"

"It’s alright," Bond hushed, picking the boy up and placing him in the shallow waters. He bathed him slowly, clearing the worst of the blood, before heading to the bushes. When he returned his hands were full of berries, anti-poison naturally. After a few hours, purple skin turned green once more.

"I’m Q," the fairy told him, lying curled against Bond’s wing.

"Bond."


	375. Chapter 375

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m so glad that you guys are baaaaack!! I have a prompt for you guys: let say Bond and Q is having an open relationship. And Bond suspects that all Q wants is an monogram one but Bond is to happy to just have anyone he wants when they come across. However, one day he finds out Q has been seeing somebody else, like another freaking hot blonde, blue-eyed older guy who are so much like Bond. What is more is that there are love bites on Q’s neck. What happen next is up to guys. Jealous Bond all the – anon

Bond waited in the corner of Q’s office, looking a little like he was preparing to assassinate his Quartermaster; he had waited for about an hour, mostly in the dark. It didn’t really faze him; he could spend indefinite periods of time on his own, lost in thought, waiting for the blaze of action that inevitably followed.

Q pushed open the door, turned the light on. He didn’t look at Bond. “You have got to stop skulking,” he said lightly, moving to his desk, switching on his computer before finally meeting Bond’s gaze. “Ah. What’s happened?”

Bond’s expression froze on the marks, peeking out of Q’s collar, peppering his neck; Q flushed a little, fidgeting at his throat. “Sorry – I know they’re a little bit obvious,” he said apologetically; open relationship or not, Q really hadn’t meant to flaunt anything in front of Bond.

“That isn’t my issue, per se,” Bond told him, almost instantly realising that the statement was not quite true. “Q, I saw the thing you’re dating. He’s me. For all purposes, he is a clone of me.”

Q blinked. Shrugged. “Do you honestly think I’m not aware of that fact?” he asked drily. “I have a type. A specific type. The type to be strong and gorgeous, blond, intense eyes… really, I cannot quite see the issue.”

It was truly staggering. “Q – a question, if you don’t mind. You agreed to an open relationship?”

“Yes,” Q replied, as though Bond was being remarkably stupid. “And this is my freedom; a few nights, once in a while, with a good-looking man. You have your women and men and whomever you choose, and I have Tony.”

“Tony,” Bond echoed, and shook his head a little. “Fuck. Alright. Here’s the thing…”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess; you’re inconveniently, unexpectedly jealous?” he suggested lightly.

Bond closed his eyes a moment. “You planned this,” he stated; Q’s smile was curious, quirked. “You  _knew_.”

Unashamedly, Q nodded. “And it worked. So – monogamy? If you think you’re up to the challenge.”

Really, there was nothing more Bond could possibly hope to say. “Ok,” he managed instead, blinking. “Okay. Challenge accepted. Monogamy.”  
A heartbeat after that, Q smirked as Bond all but pounced, intent on marking Q with _his_  bites, rather than that of his clone’s.


	376. Chapter 376

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do fill my prompt? Bond goes insane and snaps turning against MI6. A fellow 00 is sent to kill him they succeed, I would like for him to get shot and maybe the reactions of people back at MI6. (I like angst!) – madwriterscorner

It was the final straw.

An explosion in a  _primary school_. A collection of children, most in single-digit ages, in an attack that left them dead, or seriously injured. Bond had been unable to intercede in time, due to MI6’s attention being elsewhere.

Something snapped, in Bond’s mind. Somewhere along the line, it pushed him categorically over the edge. He discarded his link to MI6, trashed his tracker – kept the gun, but then, that was unsurprising.

After that, he started trashing every single MI6 initiative he could access. Terrorist groups welcomed him with open arms, allowing him free reign to  _destroy_  everything he could find, a malicious cry out at the agency who failed in so much, so frequently.

Alec Trevelyan was the only agent who knew Bond well enough, once, to be a good enough match. Even after years, he understood how Bond’s mind could tick, his weaknesses and strengths – enough to undermine, enough to be close enough to dispatch the serious problem that was Bond.

Q was struggling through a depression that only showed when he was alone, when nobody could see him.

“I have target in sight,” Alec reported; Q replied that he copied, that he understood. That Bond’s closest friend, once, was going to kill him while Q directed from behind the scenes. “Q…”

Q sighed, eyes closed. “Go,” he said simply, quietly.

The gunshot was sharp and short. Bond didn’t see who killed him. “Mission successful.”

Alec fell backwards, breath quick and sporadic in his throat, gun in hand and in possession of enough self-control to get the hell away from the scene as fast as possible, breaking into a run as though he could leave the event behind him. As he always did. Every mission, every time, it was easiest to run and abandon, stop thought.

Q didn’t cry.

M heaved a breath, grateful that the entire debacle was over. He could not afford a further thought. “Q, information on the 003 mission, if you would – debrief in my office in an hour.”

A quiet confirmation, a shadow of grief that M carefully ignored; Tanner stood by the door, implacable as always. MI6 moved on, it always did. Bond had been brilliant, once. His death was regrettable, but necessary.

Life ticked on.


	377. Chapter 377

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I blame a bit of head canon for this idea but what if the first thing Q and Bond bonded over was being distance runners? For Bond its a gym free workout while for Q its much needed alone time along with ducking a busy gym. Maybe they also trade iPods at some point for playlist variety (cue the very different musical tastes) and would love romantic fluff mixed with humor if possible? – anon

Q really hadn’t expected it. He didn’t make a point of researching agents in infinitesimal detail, not even the ones that were ridiculously gorgeous or simply uncontrollable flirts. In any case, he certainly never expected to be accosted  _outside of work_. Real life, relationships, thoughts, the whole world really, existed within the confines of MI6.

Thus every day, for an hour, Q clocked out of MI6. Nobody questioned, nobody stopped him. He worked for the remaining twenty-three hours of the day, often without bothering with sleep, but the hour’s absence remained firmly sacrosanct.

Q  _ran_. Ipod in his ears, rhythm and movement and air and freedom; weather was unimportant, he just found places with slightly more cover. He got changed in five minutes, was out running for forty, blitzed a shower and returned to Q-branch. He just happened to have damp hair.

Of bloody, sodding course, Bond had to intercept him.

Only, Bond looked just as surprised as Q did. Actor or not, there was a confusion in his expression that really didn’t quite suit him.

They both trailed to a stop. “Q?” Bond asked, in a tone that implied he was seriously questioning his sanity.

Q inclined his head gracefully. “Double-oh seven. A pleasure, as always. Now what the hell are doing here?”

Bond shrugged, indicating himself, the thin beads of sweat, ipod trailing similarly to Q’s. “I need to keep in shape, and running machines are unbelievably boring,” he explained succinctly. “And you? I really didn’t imagine you were the type.”

“I’ve been running for years,” Q shrugged. “It helps me think. Endorphins, all that kind of thing, physical fitness… I felt it was probably important.”

“So,” Bond smiled, slightly wickedly. “Fancy a race?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “I’m legitimately terrified,” he parried drily. “Where from and to?”

“Here, I’d imagine, to the opposite end of the park,” Bond nodded, the other side a fair old distance away. “Up for the challenge?”

Q put his headphones back in his ears, and smirked. “Try me, old man,” he grinned, and darted away before Bond knew what was happening.


	378. Chapter 378

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I get an 00Q or a Clint/Phil in which one is undercover and the other must watch, via surveillance equipment, as the other is undercover seducing someone? Like, up against the wall business, but keeping their eye on the surveillance camera, knowing the other is watching? Bonus if they’re not an official item yet. [tag me if/when it’s written! Please?] – asimplesong

Q sat back, jaw set, trying to pretend that he wasn’t at  _all_  affected by watching his lover caress a beautiful woman’s cheek, play with her hair, smile at her in a way that made Q’s knees go weak and also make him a little bit homicidal.

It was not the first time. It would not be the last.

In Bond’s defence, he was very nice about it. He kept Q tapped in, so he could hear the cheesy lines – and Q always commented – so they had some form of link.

Nevertheless, as he started dropping kisses over her throat, her neck, Q’s throat closed up rapidly. He stopped talking at that stage; it was always the hardest part to witness, but he needed to be watching just in case, and tune out his lover’s not-very-stifled moans and the little gasps of some vacuous woman Q hated on principle.

Bond continued to breathe hotly into her ear.

He also looked up at the security camera perched in the corner of the room, and winked.

“Bond, did you just…”

“ _You’re beautiful_ …” he moaned, eyes still caught on the camera.

“I’m rather hoping you don’t find the camera that appealing,” Q commented drily; Bond stifled a laugh against the woman’s chest, their hands twining, his venturing lower to grope absolutely unashamedly.

She grinned back, all teeth, and began working her way down Bond’s body, sliding to her knees.

Q sighed. “That’s just not fair,” he whined. “That’s  _my_  job.”

Bond nodded, still watching the camera, glancing down at the woman to give her beatific smile before returning his attention elsewhere, feigning indescribable bliss to give him an excuse to be staring at the ceiling. He stroked her hair gently, tenderly. “Am I allowed to order you to kill her?” Q mused aloud; it was a lot easier, with Bond’s eyes on him. The smile, the slightly disparaging look downwards.

Apparently, Q was far better than she was.

Ego suitably stroked, Q straightened a little in his chair. “Charming though this is, could you possibly get it done and actually extract the information we require?” Q asked, devoid of sting.

Well. Maybe only a little bit devoid of sting.

Bond smirked, sticking his tongue out childishly at the camera, before returning his attention downwards. “Now, beautiful…” he murmured to her, and Q just shook his head, a small smile on his face as he returned his attention to some coding on another screen.


	379. Chapter 379

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond gets a spot. Q is far too pleased. – anon

Q hadn’t stopped giggling.

Everybody knew why. Everybody had  _photographic evidence_  of why. Mainly because Q had stalked Bond on every camera in the  _building_  to record the moment for posterity.

James Bond, womaniser and overall sarcastic git extraordinaire, had acquired a spot.

Not just a spot; this thing was a pulsing Vesuvius, red and beautifully obvious on Bond’s forehead, sitting there as a general mark of  _look, I managed to get blocked pores and this isn’t at all a sign of immaturity, no, not at all_.

Q had never quite forgiven Bond for the comments, when they first met. He could handle most things, but picking on his  _complexion_  was a little below the belt. Q had patiently waited for  _months_  to have his revenge, certain the opportunity would arrive,  _certain_  that there was some way to make Bond pay for his insults.

“You’re going to hell,” Bond muttered at him, as Q stared, and grinned.

“Does it have its own personality yet?” Q asked facetiously, practically bouncing in his chair. “Oh, tell me it has a name. Go on, make my day.”

Bond looked like he was going to punch his Quartermaster, very hard. They had flirted for a long while, they had seemed gloriously close to some sort of tryst, but judging by Bond’s homicidal expression that was unlikely to happen any time soon.

“I assume you have spot cream?” Bond asked, with a plastered smile.

Q was still smirking as he reached into his desk drawer; he had acquired the cream a handful of days after Bond’s pithy comment about his complexion.

Bond caught it easily, darting his hand out, nodding his head in resentful gratitude and disappearing a heartbeat later.


	380. Chapter 380

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you do a christmas themed artwork or fluff? nothing like christmas in June <33 – anon

Bond had been planning it for days.

His postman was a beautiful thing, a young slip of a boy who was working in university holidays to get some extra money. Unfriendly shifts – he was on the Christmas Eve team, for example, something Bond had established on a doorstep chat a few weeks previously – and minimal pay.

Nevertheless, it did the job. Bond took great pleasure in catching the boy every time he delivered anything, and they had an impromptu arrangement wherein they rather enjoyed a few minutes of conversation daily. Even when Q had nothing to post, eventually.

So when Q tapped on the door, Bond was ready and waiting.

Q barely had time to widen his eyes, murmur  _mistletoe_ , and smile stupidly before Bond was kissing him breathless. He keened, leaning into it, messenger bag slipping off his shoulder and getting awkwardly caught around his waist before Bond yanked him indoors, kicking the door closed and somehow managing to  _lift_  Q up and leave the bag in the hall.

They hadn’t stopped kissing at any stage whatsoever. Bond had Q’s legs hooked around his waist, arms supporting him easily as he carried the boy into the living room, throwing him onto the sofa and all but crawling over him. “Is this alright?” he managed to rasp.

Q just let out a strange, inelegant cackle. “I wouldn’t be on your sofa if it wasn’t, I box,” he said, a little proudly.

Bond decided not to point out that he was competent in at least four martial arts, and an expert in another six.

Instead, he yanked at his own shirt, while Q lavished kisses over his throat and face, deep and loving and intense. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Q managed, blinking hugely at Bond’s body. “I just…”

Bond cut him off with another kiss, hands ranging down, cupping the tightness over Q’s groin. “As are you,” he purred, nipping gently at the pulse points. “Merry Christmas.”  
“Shh,” he managed. “Just,  _please_.”

Bond chuckled, and reached for the lube he had placed on the coffee table beforehand.


	381. Chapter 381

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! A bit of a weird prompt here, so feel free to ignore it… Bond arrives back from a mission only to find everyone in Q-branch watching the Eurovision song contest. They jump to defend that it’s merely in order to keep track of european politics, but they’re really just enjoying it. Bonus points if you mention Romania’s weird entry this year! Xx – optimisticstorm

Everybody in Q-branch had popcorn, large quantities of sweets, and absolutely rapt expressions. Whatever was happening on their large, ceiling-high screens was evidently of enormous interest and/or importance.

Naturally, Bond couldn’t resist having a look.

To his utter confusion, it appeared to a man, singing, in a bizarre getup and with some – relative – grasp of a tune, in what sounded like abortive Russian.

“Dare I ask?” he commented drily.

All of Q-branch comically turned as one, blood leeching from their faces as they realised they had been caught. “Hello, double-oh seven,” Q managed, the first to recover by a long margin. “We… well. This is our way of tracking European political spectra; the allocation of points, et cetera…”

It would have been an excellent story, had Q just been a little more adept at lying when taken by surprise. As it was, he half-stuttered on far too many words, expression still wide-eyed and endearingly worried.

“Eurovision song contest,” Bond said, with quiet disbelief. “Really, I… I can’t say I’m _surprised_ , but I thought it was unlikely that…”

Most of Q-branch had resorted to desperately examining their shoes, in the hope of distracting themselves – and Bond – to the continuing spectacle. Only R wasn’t fazed, happily eating through more popcorn while her colleagues prayed the ground would open and swallow them whole.

Q swallowed. “I… please don’t tell anybody?” he asked, a note of a plea in his voice. The other agents would decimate them. Bond was, at least, supposedly on Q’s side. “I’ll get you your exploding pen?”

Bond’s grin turned leonine. “Excellent,” he said cheerfully. “Well, then. Who’s up next?”

Q-branch just gaped, as Bond sat next to Q, and grappled for the popcorn.


	382. Chapter 382

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you please write a fic where the rest of MI6 are gossiping about 00Q and/or James. And about how 007 survives anything. Practically just about them being the talk of Mi6. Thank you xxxxx – spuffythatbuffy

“He can survive  _anything_ …”

“… got shot four times, and still…”

“… nobody can kill him, he’s practically bloody immortal…”

“… Q’s keeping him alive, sneaking gadgets…”

“… brings presents from…”

Bond walked in, and every single person stopped talking at once. There had been some conference in the centre of the room, hooking together people from most of the MI6 departments; there was a staff room, after all, where everybody half-socialised.

Q was never there. He had an office, and a branch, and no interest in anything outside them barring Bond’s flat. He considered transport a hassle, and the staff room a hub of nonsensical activity.

Thus, he was merrily oblivious to the chaos of conversation that haunted his and Bond’s makeshift relationship. Bond, however, was quite a lot more in tune with the political climate of MI6. “I’m assuming everybody’s talking about the weather?” he commented lightly, giving a fair indication that he had heard.

Tanner turned, with a slightly startled expression in place. “Good afternoon, double-oh seven,” he said, fixing a smile over his expression. “I trust the mission was a success?”

“Yes. I’m about to head down to Q-branch…”

A mass intake of breath, and some spectacularly unsubtle gossiping. It was almost embarrassing to witness, given that they were all supposed to be the goddamn  _secret service_. “I’m glad that’s a point of interest,” Bond said, a little loudly.

Absolute silence. Bond waited for a second or two, before exiting again; the gossip swelled just as he left, and Bond rolled his eyes, unable to suppress a faint smirk.


	383. Chapter 383

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vampire!bond au? Q’s a history prof. who stumbles upon vamp!bond mid-feeding or something and instead of freaking out he only thinks of what great source material Bond could be for his next article. He’s also completely unfazed when catching Bond half naked and starts quizzing him on his tattoos that remained from when he was human ages ago. Bond is perplexed but indulgent of Q’s attitude. Looking for something lighthearted, please. – anon

“I didn’t think tattoos like that survived the transformation process,” a voice asked curiously from behind him.

Bond stood slightly, licking his lips to get the last of the blood off his teeth; it wouldn’t do to scare the human any more than necessary. As it was, he was doing a wonderful job of remaining in a state of suspended shock as he watched Bond drain a human being of life. A mugger, to be fair – he liked to feel he could at least do society a service when killing various members.

The boy – and he was a boy, he had to be – just watched him. Judging by the slight smile, the utter ease, and the lack of frantic pulse he could scent, he was a long way from being in shock. “You’re surprisingly unperturbed,” Bond commented drily, retracting his fangs.

After a moment of fascinated staring, the boy broke back into the conversation, and shrugged. “I find your species immensely interesting – and if you’ve just fed, you’re highly unlikely to attack me,” he stated, very correctly, as it happened.

Bond smiled slightly. “And you would be?”

“Q,” the boy replied, with a smile of his own. “And you?”

“Bond. James Bond,” the vampire replied.

Q inclined his head respectfully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, with a note of utter honesty. “I… would you mind, if I asked you a couple of things? Just, I teach, and I was thinking of doing a thesis on vampraic habit, tendencies…”

Bond’s smile mutated into a grin. “You’re really not scared of me, are you?” he asked, shaking his head at the sheer gall of the boy; Q shrugged again.

“I know you could kill me,” he said contemplatively, “I merely don’t think you will.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Q’s smile mimicked his own. “You would have already done so, if you wanted to kill me,” he said cleverly, making Bond laugh outright. “Anyway. Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Bond replied fairly, gesturing forward. “Lead on.”


	384. Chapter 384

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s a klutz, all those gangly limbs, he’s fine when typing code but when in R&D his staff has learned to Q proof the area. Bond gets wind of this and starts following after him and picking up the sharp and hazardous things that Q forgets to put away while on an inventing spree. – anon

Q banged into a desk, and didn’t even notice; thankfully, the corners had long-since been rounded off by a helpful staff member, to avoid unpleasant bruises or – as Q had managed once or twice or ten – a genuine gash in the skin.

Bond headed into Q-branch, smiling slightly at the whirling dervish of his partner as he made his way around Q-branch and trashed literally everything in the vicinity. Nothing was safe; exposed wires, screwdrivers, spanners. Everything was liable to be stolen at a moment’s notice.

More worryingly, he then left them places where he would inevitably crash into them.

Thus, as Q scooted around the front few desks, Bond carefully picked up the various items from surfaces, floors. He held them, waiting until Q’s hand extended imperiously to hand them back.

The funniest part was that Q was literally oblivious. Bond stood in the way of desks, literally catching his lover and twisting him around in another direction to stop him pacing directly into doorframes or similar. Q didn’t even look at him, just allowed himself to be redirected and trusted that he wouldn’t crash into anything.

When he was statically in one place, Bond managed to find time and scope to roll up his sleeves for him, to avoid them getting caught. Q didn’t bother to shake him off, mind occupied elsewhere with equations and concepts that would doubtless sail over Bond’s head.

Q-branch helped, which was nice. They usually dealt with the exposed live wires and literal explosives that occasionally dotted Q-branch. Q had a tendency to abandon them halfway if he had a better idea, which was excellent, unless it was something with a magnesium component and was thus liable to explode with a very big bang unless it was monitored.

At the end of the day, Q’s haze would clear, and he would look at Bond with vague curiosity. “Thank you,” he said, with some sense that Bond had been helpful in something or other, but not wholly convinced he knew what. “Look at this.”

Bond grinned, and leaned in, to listen to the frenetic explanations of whatever had been taking up Q’s attention for the entire day.


	385. Chapter 385

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond’s a biter in bed. Q’s pretty sure he should stop him or at least insist that the marks happen where he can cover them up. At least, he would if he weren’t so easily distractable when bitten. – anon

Q turned, eyes still on his laptop, trying to focus on whoever the hell was talking to him.

"Yes?" He barked, an agent hissing in his ear.

"Is that a love bite?"

Q turned to him, his mission forgotten for a moment. “Excuse me?”

Ryan flushed all the way down to his shoes. “I was asked to ask, because nobody was sure, and…”

"Can this wait?!" Q hissed, gesturing to his earpiece with a frankly incredulous expression.

Ryan nodded desperately, and all but ran away.

“Bond,” Q continued, in a dangerously low voice. “I’m going to  _kill you_.”

Later that evening, he was fully prepared to kill said boyfriend. He had every intention. Absolutely  _every_  intention.  

Of course, Bond had then arrived, and everything went to hell.

“ _James…_ " he panted, as Bond licked and suckled at his neck, red marks rising.

Bond just chuckled against his throat, and bit, sucking, in a way that sent want spiralling to his cock, whimpering desperately while very aware that he was going to be marked for bloody  _weeks_.

"Just try and go below the collar line, the minions are starting to notice," Q whined as Bond moved to his chest.

"Maybe I like them knowing," Bond murmured, nipping at Q’s nipple.

Q keened, hips unintentionally bucking upwards, as Bond sucked further marks down his chest. “Oh  _god_ ,” he moaned. “This is not good. Not good. Seriously. Not good. Ohmygod  _pleasepleaseplease_.”

"I could stop…" Bond chuckled, pulling away, only to have Q latch onto him once again, kissing him deeply. He grasped at Bond’s hand, guiding him down to his straining pants.

The next morning, Q wore a scarf.


	386. Chapter 386

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so that’s not Omegaverse prompt. James is quite an old-fashioned kind of guy and Q likes the novelty of being with older man. He doesn’t expect though being punished by James who decides that enough is enough and someday puts his razor strap to use to show that he’s way more important that the work. Nothing erotic but I don’t want Q in agony either! – anon

Three hours.

Bond listened as the clock ticked further, marking the inescapable passing of time. Eventually he blew out the candles – melted almost to the stub, by now – and tipped the cold dinner into the compost bin.

Thirty four minutes later, the door opened.

Q made little, startled noise as he came in, hanging up his jacket and toeing off his shoes. “What on earth are you still doing up?” he asked, looking with sudden fondness to his partner. “Thought you’d be in bed hours ago… what’s all this?”

The table was all set, with candles, tablecloth, a vase with self-conscious flowers – the full works. Very old fashioned, and very Bond.

"Our anniversary, Q," Bond told him coldly, expression rather fixed. "I thought I might surprise you."

"Oh," Q managed softly. " James, I’m so sorry, but with Syria the way it is, not to mention 006’s…"

"I don’t care about that, any of that!" Bond snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I thought that just  _once_  we could have an evening in, so yes Q, you should be sorry.”

“Please, look, if I’d known…” Q attempted, raising his hands in protest.

"Then you would have told me that you would be late, rather than get back at a reasonable time," Bond replied sharply. "I know how this works, Q."

Q looked away, unable to meet Bond’s eyes. “James, you knew what this would mean, what being together means. You are out of the country for months at a time…”

"Which is why I thought that we had agreed to make the most of our time together," Bond said irritable, standing up very suddenly. "Am I really so unimportant to you that you can’t even take off our anniversary?"

Q was rendered speechless, unsure of what in the hell to do under the onslaught.

"I care about you, Q, more than anyone else I have ever been with, and I will  _not_  lose you.”

Q followed Bond into the bathroom, pleading for some type of understanding. “Let me make it up to you,” Q begged, as Bond reached for his shaving kit, drawing out his strop. It was part of what Q loved about him; older man, older habits.

“Over here,” Bond told him shortly, motioning to the bath, Q looked down, confused. “Trousers down, and over the bath.”

"But…"

"No questions, do as I say, Q," Bond told his technical superior, voice still sharp. " _Now_.”

Q did as he was asked, exposing his arse and lying over the edge.

Five seconds later, he screamed; the strop landed across his arse, reddening swiftly in a painful line. “What the  _hell_  are you doing?”

"Punishment, Q," Bond told him simply, bringing it down again. "Teaching you a lesson."

"What the fuck? No Bond, you can’t just… _fuck_!” he yelped, again and again as Bond cut through the soft flesh.

"Maybe this time you’ll remember, maybe this time you will actually  _think_  before you spend the entire night at work…” he continued, Q dimly aware that through the pain Bond was crying, far more so than Q.

It was over quickly enough; Q slumped downwards, into Bond’s arms. “I literally don’t know what to think,” Q mumbled at him. “That… fuck, James. Old-fashioned is all very well and good, but did nobody ever tell you that we’re in the twenty-first fucking century? I’m sorry, I truly am, and I will put you first…”

Bond didn’t answer, face buried in Q’s shoulder, trying to calm.

Q twisted around, and pressed a brief kiss to Bond’s forehead. “It’s okay,” he murmured, trying to reach his lover. “It’s okay.”


	387. Chapter 387

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OOQ: Q does a lot of yoga and Bond is very happy man ;) – anon

Apparently, Quartermaster was quite a stressful job. Apparently, that meant stress relief was a necessity, for Q.

Apparently, yoga was his choice of stress relief.

Bond discovered it quite by accident; they had been in bed, of course, and Bond had coaxed Q into a position with his legs over his head which  _really_ , should have at least been a stretch, and found that not only did Q find it easier, he was bendy to a quite phenomenal degree.

It was, in Bond’s book, an absolute bloody triumph.

From that stage onwards, Bond didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t like Q’s flexibility, or his surprisingly strong core muscles. He simply didn’t have much difficulty, even with more creative positions; he could hold himself against walls with far less effort on Bond’s part than he was used to, which made the entire experience far kinder on Bond’s spine.

Then, there was the simple fact of Q  _practising_  yoga, which became shorthand for ‘the quickest way to make Bond aroused’.

Downwards facing dog was really just asking for trouble, after all.

Q found it mildly annoying, to start off with. Mostly because his stress relief was constantly interrupted by an  _exceptionally_  horny double-oh agent who merely took one look, and was pinning Q to various surfaces.

Not that Q minded  _that_ , tremendously. He just liked being able to do his yoga as well.

Annoying turned to simple amusement, before too long. Q began to ascertain which positions were most effective, whether or not he could make Bond fully hard (or even, at stage, come close to provoking orgasm) through simple stretches and elegant contortions.

Ultimately, Q just let Bond have his way.

Quite frankly, orgasm beat yoga for stress relief any day of the week.


	388. Chapter 388

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow! you are such and amazing writer. My sister broke my favorite cup the other day, so she bought me a Q´s cup :) here is the prompt: One of Q´s minions breaks his cup. James replaces the cup for a new one. They believe Q won´t notice it, but he does. – anon

Everybody was absolutely terrified, and rightfully so.

Q didn’t have many personal possessions, but the ones he had were sacrosanct. A laptop from his earliest hacking days that was mostly classed as antique, a mouse pad from his first love, a wall poster of a band nobody really recognised, and his Q mug. The mug he had been given when he became Quartermaster.

It was  _Q’s mug_. Nobody touched it. Nobody made tea in it, even for Q himself; nobody touched the mug. Everybody knew that nobody touched the mug.

Of course, it had been an accident. An overexcitable Q-branch kid had gone into Q’s office to put some blueprints on his desk, and her shirt had caught the edge of the mug; it slid off the edge of the desk, and shattered.

“Oh god,” she whispered, as the entirety of Q-branch turned to face her, eyes wide.

Mercifully, they had Bond on side. Bond, who wanted to ensure that Q’s mental stability was maintained for as long as possible, and knew that he needed his Q mug. Thus, Q-branch researched where another could be found, and made sure Bond kept Q away from Q-branch for the next two days while it was sent, on special delivery, to MI6.

Q got a lot of sex, was mildly confused, and definitely suspicious.

When he came into Q-branch, nothing had ostensibly changed. The minions were working, Bond was hovering, his computer was whirring gently in the background. It was very, very close to normal.

It was only when he made his tea that he noticed.

Q-branch froze, as their esteemed leader stood in front of them, holding up his Q mug. “Alright,” he said quietly, dangerously. “What the flaming fuck happened to  _my_  Q mug?”

The minion who had broken it literally burst into tears, there and then. “I’m sorry, it broke, I didn’t mean to, I thought I could replace it, we tried, I know you love it, and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry Q, please don’t make me go to accounting…”

Q held up a hand. The minion continued to sob, but a little more quietly. “I commend you for finding a replacement,” he said, a little more kindly. “But believe me when I say,  _all of you_ : this will not happen again. You will appreciate my Q mug, and nothing will damage it.  _Do I make myself clear_?”

Everybody nodded, underpinned by the whimpering minion, who was being mopped up by R. “Thank you,” Q finished cheerfully, and headed back into his office.


	389. Chapter 389

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your writing goes from utterly cuddly and adorable at times and please kill me so I wont read any more of this so very well written angst and beg for more. Ugh. I have a prompt, as we all do. You know how Q branch workers are well, minions? What if Q was the overlord, much like Meryl Streep’s character in The devil wers prada, and they all are amazed with Bond for capturing his heart and interest? – anon

Universally, the consensus remained that Q was one of the single most frightening human beings to ever stalk the earth and terrify passers-by. Certainly, he was in his work environment; a brilliant and psychotic and occasionally  _evil_  being who was respected in every corner of the technological world, and was beyond frightening to anybody who had ever met him.

His minions were some of the best in the industry. They all knew that. They had sacrificed life, limb and all suggestion of a social life in exchange for the chance to work with Q. Those that pleased him went on to extraordinary careers. Those who did not, generally never worked with technology again, and were in long-term therapy for the rest of their lives.

Thus, when it seemed that Q was in any form of  _intimate relationship_  with another human being, it was beyond shocking.

Of all people, it had to be double-oh seven. The most irreverent, irresponsible, ridiculous agent to ever curse Q-branch. It seemed like a match made in hell.

To be fair though, Q often seemed like a creature made in hell. So perhaps it was not all that bizarre.

The funny thing was, he was wonderfully mild about it all. He was never the type to shout or scream or terrorise in any obvious sense. Q simply had a delightful way of picking to shreds anybody who disappointed or disobeyed him in any sense, without ever raising his voice, or even ostensible blackmail. He was  _nice_ , a decent proportion of the time.

Bond was utterly impervious to verbal acrobatics, which doubtless helped. He came into Q-branch and watched Q work, distracted the minions once in a while (a terrifying prospect) and propositioned Q in increasingly less subtle ways.

When one minion accidently lost comms on 008, he even coaxed Q away from a verbal decimation. The minion promptly cried, and insistent on giving Bond every single development, all of her support, baking cupcakes for him when he returned from a mission on Kenya.

Q rolled his eyes, and allowed it to happen.

“Dinner,” Bond told him one evening, when Q was working absurdly late after a seventy-hour stretch. “ _Now_ , Q. We’re going.”

“No, we are not,” Q returned primly.

Bond reached for him, and  _literally_  carried him out of the building. Q hissed, spat, became eerily reminiscent of a throttled snake, and eventually conceded begrudging and furious defeat. “I hate you,” he muttered in the car, while the minions exchanged terrified glances, wondering what revenges Q would exact on them in the morning for not liberating him.

“I love you, too,” Bond replied lightly, and fed Q pizza while the younger man pouted.


	390. Chapter 390

**_They call me ice  
_ ** **_and glass and mirrors  
_ ** **_but it’s not myself I see  
_ ** **_in the dust and the ash like flower petals:  
_ ** ****_it’s you._

**_They say I gave my heart  
_ ** **_to a stranger long ago  
_ ** **_so I would never have  
_ ** **_occasion to lose it  
_ ** ****_but far be it for me to stop you from trying._

**_They say we’ll lose ourselves before  
_ ** **_we learn to bend  
_ ** ****_but isn’t that the point?_

**_We live in metal and gunsmoke;  
_ ** **_we wouldn’t have it any way else.  
_ ** **_When the walls crumble  
_ ** **_in my glass-clad distance I’ll  
_ ** ****_wait for miracles._

**_You charm the angels every time._ **

**_When the flames consume  
_ ** **_what little is left of me  
_ ** ****_I’ll limp back to you._

**_And learn what home means. -00Q_ **

**\---**

I am the ice  
The glass and smoke and mirrors  
I mirror in you.  
For you.  
The antithesis and equal.

No completion.  
(That would be naïve)  
But we have something.  
Something indiscernible  
And enough, perhaps.

Being lost is perfectly beautiful  
Depending on company.  
You watch and wait  
A silent vigil  
Until the glow fades  
And exhaustion is all.

Watching you fall apart is hard  
Impossible, sometimes.  
But then, you know the worst of me  
And, quite inexplicably,

Stay.


	391. Chapter 391

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minion in Q branch is homophobic, and has no qualms about announcing this fact to the world. Q doesn’t do anything about it (because he doesn’t want to get into a confrontation), but the other minions of Q-branch with help from James, if you’d like) decide that enough is enough, and make homophobic ex-minion’s (he’s been ex-communicated from Q-branch minion-hood by the other minions) life in Q-branch rough, rough, choppy, stormy sailing. – 221Bshire

Q took a breath, exhaled slowly, and stopped his hands from shaking as he continued to type at a relatively frenetic pace. He needed to keep working, needed to keep typing and thinking and coding and forgetting, because it was surprising, how quickly things could impact and feel horrendous in a terribly short space of time.

Of course, Q was very unwilling to do a thing about it. He did not want to be confrontational, or unpleasant, to a colleague who was otherwise excellent.

The other minions – and they were very much united – were considerably less than happy. Q’s partner, one of the most frightening secret agents to work for MI6 in a number of years, was also somewhat less than delighted.

Bond rolled his shoulders, and prepared to fire at will.

The minion found that everything on his computers failed to work in infinite numbers of psychotic ways, from failed internet to – at one inspired point, that earned R a pay rise and a round of drinks – his keyboard exploding.

It was  _superb_.

After that point, the ex-minion had a formal excommunication from miniondom. In a ceremony that took half an hour, tea, and tears. R presided over the event, as Chief Minion, and they all mass-shunned him in dramatic fashion that resulted in somebody stealing his hat, which was perversely considered a sign of his minionhood.

Q watched, and grinned.

Bond went a step further, and  _kidnapped him_.

The ex-minion woke up blindfolded, screaming, sobbing. “I don’t know anything,” he whined, when he realised somebody was in the room with him. “I don’t, please…”

Bond rolled his eyes, and slapped him. The minion keened pathetically. “For god’s sake,” he snapped, through a piece of cloth to prevent his voice being recognisable. “Pull yourself together. You call your leader effeminate, and yet cry like a child at a single slap. You will desist in all homosexual slurs, behaviours, belittling, intimidation… or this will happen once again. And next time, I’ll do far more than slap you. Understood?”

The ex-minion whimpered, twitched, and pissed himself.

Bond just snorted, and texted the address to Q with quiet satisfaction.


	392. Chapter 392

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got another silly prompt, so I apologize, but I just can’t help myself! I’m in love with this blog <3 Could you maybe write a Sweeney Todd 00Q? If you have the time. Thanks so much! –nerdqueen269

Q walked into the room, took in the dead body in the middle of his living room, and just sighed. “You had to kill one, didn’t you?” he asked rhetorically, sounding faintly annoyed.

Bond was sat on the sofa, hands laced under his chin, gun waiting on the table. “I needed it,” he murmured, low and sensuous in a curious way. “I could  _see_  it… hell, Q, retirement doesn’t suit me.”

“No, I never would have guessed,” Q commented drily.

Ever since hitting retirement, Bond had been getting visible antsy. Apparently, this had now graduated into outright murder, which was not overly surprising; Q had watched him abduct a mugger from a side street, cut the cameras off so he didn’t need to see what Bond did with him.

Leaving him in the middle of the floor, however, was just sloppy. “I’ll get rid of it later,” Bond told him apologetically.

Q shrugged. “Just… it seems a shame, to dump it somewhere,” he murmured. “I mean… look at it. It’s a waste.”

“What?” Bond asked wearily.

“I mean…” Q murmured, stalking around the body, taking in the composition. “It’s a good, lean frame, plenty of muscle… it’s not like anybody would think to trace it… and we could do with some more income, now you’re not earning. Think of it as… saving, if you will. Avoiding waste. If you get my drift.”

Bond looked utterly, blithely lost. Q rolled his eyes.

“I just mean, with the price of meat and your cooking skills. If you get it.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Bond said finally, a small smile twitching his features.

Q sighed in obvious contentment. “Good, you got it. It’s been done before, with various degree of effect, and nobody would ever consider it from anybody like us. It’ll taste like any other meat, probably closest to beef at a stretch.”

“You’re a bloody wonder, Q,” Bond mused, with a grin, moving to stand opposite his lover, linking his arms around Q’s waist. “Practical use of a corpse, yes. Christ, what would I do without you?”

“No idea – but this means you can still go out for occasional hits, just take the bodies back here, we’ll strip them and bake them… probably pies are best, but given that you’re damn good at lasagne I’d recommend those too,” Q grinned.

Bond kissed him deeply, beautiful, and laughed.


	393. Chapter 393

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOU ARE LOVELY AND SO TALENTED. Thank you for filling everyone’s prompts (am just ecstatic that my not so dead!Bond and engaged!Alec&Q even got a sequel). Q is pretty much the darling of MI6, particularly of the double 0s. When he’s sent out on a mission requiring his expertise and fails to meet up with the retrieval team, they pretty much drop everything to create a team of their own and save their beloved quartermaster. – anon

“Q hasn’t checked in,” M told Bond, when the Quartermaster failed to reach his rendezvous, or indeed make contact with his lover.

A moment of silence. “Understood.”

-

The double-ohs mobilised with breathtaking speed, from their various corners of the globe. 001 was on a mission in Bulgaria, which she completed in record time to head to Germany; Q had last been seen there, and Bond essentially waited for everybody to arrive.

001 arrived first. 006 was next, and actually annoyed that 001 had got there first. 009 and 008 arrived in tandem, 003 and 004 had been on a joint mission and were less than half an hour later, 002 was on a long-haul flight and expected the next morning, and 005 was on a deep undercover mission that could not be compromised, to her deep upset.

Rolling shoulders, flexing fingers, with all of their weaponry utterly intact and waiting to blow brains out. “Q-branch have confirmed location,” Bond told them, shortly after 005 arrived the next morning.

The double-ohs set themselves up, and hit the ground running.

Everything that moved got shot, mostly non-lethally, and then either interrogated or beaten about a bit before being killed. The deaths became substantially more drawn-out when they located Q, who had clearly been subjected to a broken nail by the time the double-ohs got there, and was mostly very  indignant about the entire affair.

He did sniffle at Bond however, which was enough to make the rest of the double-ohs maliciously hurt everybody in the vicinity.

Nobody hurt Q.

They just didn’t.


	394. Chapter 394

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello. If it’s alright I would like to give a prompt. It’s an AU, set back during the renaissance, where witches were being hunted down. Maybe knight/priest!Bond would meet an accused witch!Q [still male] before he was to be burned at the stake and then … I dunno anymore. You decide. Please and thank you! – inevitabilityof

Bond could not deny curiosity. He had never been the type to deny his own interest, certainly not when it came to the peculiarities of the world around him; and this, this certainly constituted an interesting peculiarity.

Witches were almost always female. The elder women, or the pretty young ones who tempted all men in the vicinity. Heckled by jealous wives and angry men in search of power, they would die in pain, agony, and the world would watch under the guise of witchcraft.

This was new. The creature tied to the stake, looking unapologetically terrified, was no more than a kid. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen, pale and thin, dark hair falling over green eyes, and indisputably and entirely male.

He called out to anybody who would listen, squinting slightly, hiccupping in panic as more bundles of straw were stacked at his feet in preparation.

There was something instinctively  _wrong_  with the scene. The boy just didn’t seem the type. He was too young and far too frightened, had a spark of something behind his eyes, just had  _something_  that seemed wrong.

“What evidence do we have for this boy’s wizardry?” Bond’s voice boomed, over the surrounding hubbub.

The boy gasped in a breath. “I’m not, God knows, I have never been involved in wizardry,” he said quickly, loudly, drowned an instant later by the chaos of voices around denying him.

Bond took a few further steps forward, crowds parting; nobody crossed a knight, not in this quiet area of the world. “ _Evidence_ ,” he repeated again.

The evidence was spurious, at best. Inventions, little helpful cropping devices and ideas, dabbling with gunpowder; experiments, it seemed, of a bored and clever young man who had scope to do far more than his village would allow. And now, of course, everything had become severely out of hand.

The crowd stilled at the extension of Bond’s palm, utter quiet, barring the sporadic breath of the boy still bound to the stake in the centre of the chaos. “Boy,” Bond asked coldly. “These devices. Would you be capable of demonstrating that they have no connection to wizardry?”

The boy all but tripped over words in his haste, nodding frantically, glancing in naked terror to the open flames that threatened to condemn him to a truly horrific death.

Bond drew his sword. The boy stuttered to a choked sob, closing his eyes, face contorting as he waited for the blade to sink into flesh. A faster death, a kinder death.

His knees went from under him when the blade slit open his bindings, letting him fall into the arms of his saviour, clinging onto him for dear life as the crowd shrieked and wailed, deprived of their public entertainment for the day.


	395. Chapter 395

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you please do a 00q fic where Bond turns against MI6 and Q has to kill him? the angstier the better! – anon

Q stared blankly at the computer screens, his heart beating too loudly and too quickly in his chest, hammering frantically, beating a rhythm against his sternum and trying to break free and not  _think_  any more.

“Alec,” he murmured, using first-name terms because god  _damn it_ , Alec was the only one who could even hope to understand how this felt, just how horrific it was going to be, having to issue this order.

Alec’s voice was heavy, more than prepared. Everybody knew. They had known for a while, now. There were no other options. “I assume this is official authorisation?” he asked quietly, voice steady.

Q nodded, before remembering that Alec couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he returned, equally quiet. “Official authorisation to remove the current threat to MI6, ex-agent James Bond.”

“Received and understood,” Alec replied, both of them keeping businesslike, distancing from the emotion that would impact later, when the job was done. “No opportunity to remove into custody?”

Q’s expression crumpled very briefly. “None. This is an execution order. We can’t keep chasing him, you know that. He’s depending on the fact that we would never authorise his elimination, and he’s run out of time, we kept giving him chances…”

Alec hushed him, his voice a comfort, as it had been since Bond’s disappearance several months ago. “Do we have visuals?” he asked instead, cutting off Q’s impromptu monologue in favour of something more restrained.

“Yes, we do,” intoned a voice over the comms, one both recognised. Alec’s breath caught a moment, Q’s did not. “Are you really doing this, Q?”

“James, you know I have to,” Q murmured, watching Alec make his silent trek towards Bond’s location, on his handheld; Q had always known that Bond would hack this line, but his tracker was encrypted. This was Q’s chance to say goodbye. “I hate you for this, you know.”

“Alec?”

No answer, unsurprisingly.

“I forgive you both,” Bond said calmly. “You know why I left. I don’t regret it. Alec, you’re a damn good shot, please make it clean.”

“I will,” Alec returned, his only words, and the only words he would ever give.

Bond wasn’t bothering to run. It would only be a matter of time, now, before MI6 caught up to him; extractions were hard work, assassinations were not. Relatively simple, in fact. Alec would chase until he find his target, and Bond was too tired and too  _old_  to keep running at this stage. It would achieve nothing.

“I loved you,” Bond told Q.

Q didn’t smile. “I loved you, too,” he replied quietly.

A single shot.

“Target eliminated.”

Voice steady, calm, utterly controlled.

“Received.”

Fractured, but whole. No tears.


	396. Chapter 396

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG, your fluff has been so adorbs lately, I have to throw in a prompt. Bond and Q are on vacation in Greece or something. They’re hiking and come across a place to go cliff diving. Bond thinks Q won’t do it because of his fear of flying, but Q surprises Bond when, showing no fear, he makes a running jump and flies into the water first. Bond will obviously be impressed. THANKS JEN!!! – stephrc79

Q had bitching about the hiking aspect of the trip for the entire duration. Bond had been insistent; the scenery was utterly beautiful, and Q would like it once he got there. Cue a large number of acerbic comments about potentially dying long before making it within spitting distance of ‘beautiful views’.

The edge of the cliff looked over the ocean, with a number of signs indicating that it was an ideal – and relatively safe – location to cliff dive, if one was so inclined.

Bond looked at it, heart leaping a little; he hadn’t been cliff diving in  _years_ , and had loved it. Pure adrenaline, the feeling of plummeting, the coolness of the water and breathtaking effect of it all.

But, Q would never do it. And Bond was not exactly likely to leave his lover at the top of a cliff for any protracted period of time.

“You want to go, don’t you?” Q asked mildly, looking over the edge with curiosity.

Bond didn’t bother to deny it; Q could see lies a mile away.

Q nodded, rolling his shoulders slightly, in vague discomfort. He took a few steps away from the edge, and Bond smiled lightly, extending his hand to lead Q back down the edge of the cliff and towards home.

He didn’t expect his bloody ridiculous, unpredictable and utterly psychotic partner to take a  _running jump_  off the edge of a bloody, sodding  _cliff_.

Of course, he landed absolutely perfectly, and laughed like a child in the water, looking up at Bond with a challenging expression. He swam a little back, indicating around him as though asking Bond  _and where the hell are you_?

Bond didn’t hesitate, leaping off himself, revelling in the feel of air and gravity and adrenaline, and impact, and hearing Q’s laughter in infinite greater clarity now they were at the same damn level. “You cliff dive?!” Bond asked, in utter shock.

Q grinned. “You underestimate me, Mr Bond,” he teased.

Bond swam closer, pulling Q into a lingering kiss, keeping them afloat with powerful kicks. “Don’t I just.”


	397. Chapter 397

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You two are going to heaven! I have a prompt, hope don’t mind. Q and James have a car accident. That’s all, the rest is up to you.

The noise was incredible.

Both were thrown to the side, grinding sounds, heat and noise and panic, Q could feel nothing but simple panic as he was thrown into the seatbelt, the airbag expanding, bouncing him backwards again.

Stillness. Silence.

“Q?” Bond asked, coughing out smoke.

Smoke. They needed to get the hell out, in case the petrol tank exploded. “ _Q_ ,” he said again, emphatically, waiting for a response; he couldn’t quite crane his neck, from that angle, needed to get out. Bond reached for the door, yanking the door open next to him. He could feel there was no injury barring superficies to his own body, but he needed to get Q out.

Blinking in the light, Bond looked back into the car.

Q was encased in his seatbelt, barely conscious, and bleeding. “Q, can you talk to me?”

“James?” he mumbled, trying to turn his head. “James, what’s..?”

“Careful, don’t move – what hurts?”

“Leg,” Q mumbled, with a slight keen as he tried to move it. “Fuck.  _Fuck_. James, can’t move.”

Bond hushed him carefully, looking at the compressed parts of the car, trying to establish what was putting pressure on various points of Q’s body, what could crumple inwards and cause further pain. “Q, I’m going to try and get you out,” Bond soothed, voice as gentle as he could make it. “I’m going to move some parts of the car, tell me if there’s pressure anywhere or if anything hurts.”

Q nodded, glancing up at Bond with quiet worry and unwavering trust.

Bond leaned in, feeling along the contours of Q’s body, finding the seatbelt and moving it away from Q slowly. The rest of him was relatively intact, barring his left leg, which was at a curious angle. “Alright,” Bond murmured. “Arms around my neck, I’m going to lift you. This is going to hurt, Q.”

To Q’s utter credit, he didn’t make a sound; his jaw clenched tightly, eyes screwed shut, but he didn’t otherwise say a word. Bond lifted him carefully, easily, and cradled his body as they got the hell away from the car. “Ambulances on the way,” Bond told Q softly, the younger man nodding slightly as they listened to sounds of distant sirens.


	398. Chapter 398

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all your stories are incredible! I have a little prompt. Modern AU “Perfume: The Story of a Murderer ” Someone (could be Silva) is hunting young boys that look so alike to Q. (does the same to the girls in the movie) – anon

The file was weird, to say the least. Q leafed through it with a sense of general confusion, not quite sure what to make of it, rather hoping he was misunderstanding some aspect and coming to the general conclusion that he was not.

A rash of very unpleasant murders, apparently. The victims were strangled, shaved, sexually assaulted, and had traces of oil residues across their bodies. Q’s greatest concern, really, was that they were all of a similar nature that boded exceptionally badly for Q’s imminent welfare.

Thin, long-limbed, pale, British, dark-haired, green eyed. The hair on all the victims had been shaved, but the killer had left a single curl in the centre of their foreheads, a teasing little trait while the rest was taken elsewhere.

It was creepy, to say the least.

Q was not stupid. Nobody was. There was absolutely no doubt, in anybody’s mind, that either Q was an intended victim – possible – or would at least be a  _potential_  target. It was worrying. M increased his security detail, and Q himself started scanning through everybody he’d ever been in contact with in the hopes of finding whether he was a specific target.

When he worked it out, it was enough to make him breathless.

M was subjected to Q all but bursting through his door. “Get Bond here,” he said quickly, sharply. “I think I’ve worked it out, and I really don’t like it, and I need help.”

Of course, M obeyed instantly; Bond materialised in an ungodly quick space of time, and Q rattled off all he had found: Silva, the only true technological rival Q had ever found, had been sending small quirks into his firewalls, waiting for Q to pick them up.

It had to be Silva; the work was too deft, too  _familiar_ , to be anybody else. There were clues, signposts towards the murders, and the gentle implication that there was a piece de resistance waiting for him.

“We need to trace, and get him the hell away from me,” Q said quickly, honestly frightened for the first time in a long while. “Bond?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  
“You know him better than any other agent, can I keep him?” Q asked, addressing the last to M himself. M waved his hand quite happily, more than prepared to let Q do whatever was necessary to keep alive.

Q nodded, calming as best he could. “Alright,” he murmured, breathing out slowly. “We need to keep a look out for others matching the description, but the viability…”

M was already shaking his head. “We would risk a PR panic – they’re looking for you, specifically. We may need to lure them out.”

“Him,” Q corrected, with a touch of edge in his tone. “It’s Silva. I know what I’m talking about. You have to trust me.”

Bond and M explained quick looks; Q had been paranoid, heavily paranoid, ever since the Silva incident. It was not surprising that he had jumped to Silva as the conclusion to this little problem.

“We will see,” M said tactfully. “Bond, you are on Q’s security detail on a permanent basis. Q, I need substantial proof on all fronts before we mobilise anything. Both understood?”

The pair murmured assent, and M sent them out of his office.


	399. Chapter 399

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You two are amazing. Could you please fill a prompt where an enemy spy finds about q and bond and shoots q in front of bond as revenge for bond interfering. – anon

Bond pushed open the door to their flat, feeling utterly shattered, and really hoping that Q hadn’t tried to cook because really, Bond didn’t want to have to sort out the kitchen when all he really wanted to do was kiss Q senseless and forget about the world for a bit.

Which turned out to really not be an option.

“Good evening, Mr Bond.”

Q was on his knees in front of their sofa, a piece of cloth rammed in his mouth, hands tied tightly behind his back. There was a bruise rising on his cheekbone, shirt in disarray from his presumed struggles.

More pressingly, there was a gun pressed to the back of his head.

The man holding it was naturally recognisable, and Bond knew damn well what he was there for. Revenge, quite simply. It made the situation terrifyingly precarious; a misstep, and he would not hesitate to simply shoot Q. “He’s nothing in this. Your argument is with me.”

“Quite obviously, you care about him,” the man sighed, Bond belated filling the name as Milo Jackson. Jackson pressed the gun harder, Q’s eyes sharp and emerald, utterly unwavering. “This, Mr Bond, is what happens if you defy our organisation.”

Bond felt a deep, clawing sense of anxiety. Not fear, not yet, but rapidly approaching that stage; Jackson didn’t seem very controlled or calm, and certainly not the type to spare lives on the grounds of mercy. “So shoot me,” Bond shrugged, hands up, a slightly obnoxious smile crooking his lips. “Let him go, he’s only a kid.”

Jackson’s eyebrow crooked. “Hmm, yes. Young tastes, Mr Bond? He seems sweet enough.”

Good. He didn’t know who Q was. If he did, Q probably would have been in the back of a van somewhere rather than still in the living room. “Jackson, your row’s with me. Let the kid out, we can deal with this ourselves.”

A moment of suspension, Bond waiting for the response. This was the moment where Q would be pushed away, would be allowed to get out of the flat and alert MI6 before anything further happened.

The one thing he did not expect, could  _never_  have expected, was for the man to pull the trigger.

Q’s eyes were wide and green and utterly beautiful.

He fell to the floor, his blood speckling Bond’s suit.


	400. Chapter 400

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond rarely gets chances to dote on people he really likes and Q knows this. So when some of his more frumpy clothes start getting replaced with finer fabrics and better fits he doesn’t say anything. He really should draw a line at all the other extravagances like exclusive dinners, watches, box seats to symphonies and theater, etc. but James just looks so happy doing it that Q finds it hard to comment. – runemarks

Q looked at his shirt, hanging in the wardrobe, and sighed a little.

It was not, technically speaking,  _his_  shirt. It was a very nice replica, stylistically, but was indisputably  _not_  his actual shirt, the one he had bought and worn in and was actually relatively fond of in a dispassionate sort of way. Instead, it had a technically better cut, and was a  _beautiful_  material.

Bond had invited him out to dinner, and Q knew full damn well that it was going to be a terrifyingly upmarket affair. Probably involving some sort of after-dinner entertainment. He was supposed to be in a suit, so he  _was_  in a suit, and not one he had technically ever worn before (although credit where due, it was perfect).

The previous week had involved an absurd visit to an opera. Q had never been to the opera in his  _life_ , but Bond had apparently always enjoyed it, and wanted to introduce Q to the world of culture outside the parameters of his laptop.

Bond pulled him out the bedroom, grinning delightedly at the sight of him. “You’re beautiful,” he told Q brightly, looking over every inch of him. “Christ, Q. Do you like it?”

Q could only smile, blushing slightly at the absurdity of wearing this thing. “It’s perfect,” he said honestly, shrugging a little. “I just… James, this is silly. I don’t deserve all this.”

A small smile, a small eye roll. “Q, I  _like_  being able to look after you,” he told Q quietly. “I want to look after you, treat you to everything I possibly can. I know it’s over the top, but I don’t have anybody else.”

Oh, the guilt trip card. That was just  _mean_.

“I know you enjoy it,” Q murmured. “I just don’t want you to go to all that effort, for me…”

Bond held up a hand, interrupted him with a soft kiss. “I’ll try and dial it back,” he promised, running a thumb over Q’s bottom lip gently. “Just know it’s from a good place. I love you, Q.”

Q gaped a moment. “What?! You  _love me_?”

Bond raised his eyebrow curiously. “Is that a problem?”

A frantic headshake, a bright grin. “God, no. I love you too, James. I really do.”

Bond smiled, nodded slightly. “Fantastic. Let’s go to dinner, yes? And we can get a takeaway tomorrow, if you want…”


	401. Chapter 401

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt for you, as I just got an odd ego boost, when an attractive classmate of mine from two years ago just bluntly propositioned me - I said no, but hey? it felt nice to have someone interested! How’s about Bond just goes straight up to Q and does the same and Q flounders a bit at the bluntness of it all, but is actually quite proud to have snagged his attention like that. – optimisticstorm

Q looked up, saw Bond, and sighed a little.

“How can I help you?” he asked lightly, feeling very tired; it had been a long day, a long  _few_  days, and he was still awake and didn’t really want to be very much, and whatever Bond wanted was probably going to involve excessive quantities of broken equipment.

Instead, Bond said the single sentence Q expected least in the world:

“You are the most beautiful, and intelligent, human being I have ever come across, Quartermaster – and I would like to take you out to dinner, if you are at all willing?”

Q gaped.

Q-branch gaped.

Bond just stood there, bold as brass, waiting for a reply.

“I… my office, Bond, if you would?” Q managed, guiding him into the small office and shutting the door, trying to make his pulse stabilise a little.

Bond watched him with polite amusement. “Are you quite alright, Q?”

Q took a moment, trying to work out how to adequately construct a response. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replied, swallowing, leaning on the back of his desk chair and cursing as it shifted beneath him. “I… I just didn’t  _expect_  that. Not in front of everybody, not… I mean, it’s just a surprise.”

“… and?” Bond queried, still with the shadow of a smile. He didn’t seem at all concerned by Q’s reaction.

In fact, he seemed to be finding it quite endearing.

Q sighed out an extended breath, and smiled. “Yes,” he managed. “God,  _yes_. That would be fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. I mean, just… I can’t believe you really… blimey. Eight?”

“Eight,” Bond confirmed, and sauntered out of the office without a care in the world.


	402. Chapter 402

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q magnanimously decides that he and James need space and leaves. However, he forgot that leaving would attract many of England’s enemies and just when he’s about to get interrogated for her secret’s James arrives just in time to stop it. James actually thanks Q’s kidnappers before killing them because it’s very hard to make up with one’s spouse when he refuses to stay put. James decides to sort out what made Q so upset while he’s still tied to the chair. – anon

Q cursed quietly to himself, in a series of intriguing languages and even more intriguing accents, looking extremely irritated with the entire situation given that it was entirely idiotic and really, he should have thought things through before deciding to up and leave England and MI6 without so much as a word, or indeed a damn good security detail.

Altogether, extremely stupid, and he was really regretting it now he was tied to a chair, and potentially about to be tortured/interrogated for England’s various secrets.

A few of them filed in, and Q took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

An abrupt series of gunshots, and Q felt a surge of fear followed by pleasant surprise as he realised it had to be MI6. The door slammed open, and of  _bloody_  course, it was James Bond, it  _had_  to be goddamned James Bond. “Evening Q,” he said pleasantly, and shot out the kneecaps of the people bearing various sharp things and nasty expressions.

They all predictably screamed, and Bond relieved them of weaponry and tied them up in a corner in a series of efficient motions. “Thank you, gents,” he said, still with a happy type of smile. “I’m very obliged, actually. I need to deal with some relationship issues, and having him in a static location is rather useful. Now, I may need to kill you all in a few minutes, but not until I have clearance from the Powers that Be. In the interim, please remain quiet.”

Q blinked. “Are you planning to untie me?”

Bond shook his head, pulling over another chair and sitting opposite him. “Not until you tell me why you left,” he said firmly, and leant back slightly, waiting for Q to reply.

Q gaped. The tied-up would-be captors looked between them with confusion and interest. “Bond, we’re not doing this right now. I told you, we needed space,” Q responded, voice low, flushing slightly at doing this  _in front of_  people who were liable to have wanted to torture him.

“Why now, and why the abrupt departure?”

A slight sigh. “Bond, I’ve been… it’s been a difficult few months, and we were getting serious, and you had that bloody Korean…”

“Of course, Korea,” Bond interrupted, tone murderous. “I  _knew_  you were lying. I  _asked_ if you were alright, you idiot. You know I didn’t have an option.”

“I  _know_  you didn’t have an option!” Q cried, wishing he had the chance to gesticulate to make the point more emphatic. He usually did. “It doesn’t make it easier, but it wasn’t  _fair_  to tell you I wasn’t okay because you didn’t have an option but I needed to deal with things in my own head, because it’s not going to be the last time that happens, and I knew you wouldn’t bloody leave me alone if I stayed in MI6 so yes, I ran away to France and ran into these wankers which brings everybody up to speed, yes?”

The captors were watching with utter fascination. It was a practical soap opera.

Bond rolled his eyes, reaching out to cup Q’s face gently; Q was still glaring at him petulantly, but didn’t move away. “You should have talked to me,” he murmured gently, running a thumb over Q’s cheekbone. “Q, I love you. You have no idea how much it hurt, seeing you’d left.”

Q took a small breath. “You love me?”

The trussed captors all would have made  _aww_  sounds, had they not been gagged.

Bond kissed Q lightly, and nodded. “I love you too,” Q admitted.

One of the captors was nearly in tears by this stage, as Q leant into Bond’s touch, both of them sweet and calm in one another’s presence. “Come home?” Bond asked lightly, smiling at Q’s answering nod, wrapping his torso in a hug and deftly releasing him from his bonds so his lover could literally fall into his arms.

“One moment,” Bond said fondly, leaning back a moment. “Received,” he said, evidently in response to something in his earpiece. “Clearance,” he filled in to Q.

The captors had a moment to register what had been said, and feel generally alarmed, before Bond shot them.


	403. Chapter 403

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have a fluff prompt to combat the dark resort fic! bond is over at Q’s flat for valentines day and theyve been together for a while but havent moved to each others flats so bond surprises q with breakfast, q casually drops the “i love you” bomb and then freaks but james calms him down with kisses and says he loves him back… thank you!!!! – anon

Q woke up to the immensely encouraging smell of a cooked breakfast, and Earl Grey tea – which really, constituted one of the best things that had happened to him in a long while. It smelt like everything good in the world, quite frankly.

“Hey,” a familiar voice murmured.

Naturally, Q’s eyes flew open; he hadn’t actually connected that breakfast meant that there had to be somebody else in the flat. He tried to focus, Bond naturally blurry without his glasses. “Hey,” he managed, a little foggily.

Bond helped him sit up, the comforting presence of his warmth helping him sit up, handing him his glasses. “Thought you’d enjoy,” Bond suggested, nodding at the tray of various foodstuffs on a tray, on the bed next to him.

“Oh god,” Q breathed. “I love you.”

It only impacted a moment later, that he’d just told James Bond that he was in love with him. The man who had barely accustomed himself to his own sexuality, let alone commitment of any form, and didn’t really  _do_  ‘love’ as a basic concept.

Q panicked, promptly, and tried to cover with a series of burbles about  _I meant_  and  _I mean_  and  _I…_  before Bond interrupted him with a quiet, understated laugh. “Q, calm down,” he coaxed, and leaned in to kiss his young lover.

That put paid to any words on Q’s part.

“I love you too,” Bond told him simply, calmly. Q could barely breathe, for a weird and slightly disconnected moment. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Q.”

Q just nodded, and kissed him again.


	404. Chapter 404

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s born with a sensitivity for dragons, much to his mother’s horror who’s afraid other dragons will steal him away. In primary school he finds a bright blue egg that his mother begs him to ignore but he can’t and sneaks it inside his room to keep watch. Soon the egg hatches and the dragon, called James, magically binds himself to Q. Q’s mother makes the most of it since bindings are irreversible. At least at this age, the dragon can’t do any stealing, not yet anyway. – anon

Q had always understood, appreciated, adored, the dragons.

From as far back as he could remember, he had found an affinity with the creatures; he would watch the skies, trying to see them, smiling ridiculously when he did and waiting desperately in the hope of seeing more, of  _knowing_  more.

When he found the egg, he had been beyond ecstatic. His mother, on the other hand, was absolutely horrified; she confiscated it, tried to place it back outside and out of Q’s reach. He had found it just walking home, and known then that he needed the egg. It was  _his_.

Of course, despite his mother’s efforts, he managed to find it again. It wasn’t even difficult; some instinct drove him onwards, and he plucked it from a bush and smuggled it into his bedroom, carefully tending to it and keeping it safe.

It was a beautifully light, pearlescent blue. It reminded him of ice, of the sky in summer, of clear water. Q could stare at it for hours, entirely entranced by the sight of it, of the life he knew was growing in it and would one day become a fully fledged _dragon_.

When it hatched, two things happened:

One – he became utterly, inextricably bonded with a baby dragon, whom he named James.

Two – his mother was absolutely apoplectic, and grounded him for the next thousand years or so.

She couldn’t stop his link with the dragon, which was a small mercy; magical bonding could survive even a mother’s wrath, and to be quite frank, she wasn’t overwhelmingly surprised that Q had ignored her to find his dragon. He had always been somewhat fated to wind up bonded with a dragon.

They were such dangerous creatures, however. It was difficult to allow her baby boy to connect with something that would grow infinitely more power, and more lethal, than he could ever be.

But then, watching Q tuck the baby dragon under his arm and practically  _coo_ , at least her son was entirely, completely happy.


	405. Chapter 405

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda personal to me, but I was wondering if you could do a fic where Q has a security blanket (like a ribbon or an old childhood stuffed toy) and Q-branch finds out and they bully/tease him, and James tries to comfort him about it. – anon

Q had owned the pillow since he was very, very young. As far back as he could remember, actually; it was an owl, brown and white and beige, discoloured through the years but still wholly intact.

It was just a staple. Relatively small, very much something Q liked to have around; he kept it in Q-branch, given that he spent infinitely more time there than at his flat, and with his work the way it was, a touch of security was hardly the worse thing in the world.

Which was all very well and good, until the point where Q-branch realised that a man in his mid-twenties had the equivalent of a security blanket in his office.

Mercifully, nobody attempted to touch it or move it. That did not, however, prevent an onslaught of mocking; the different departments around MI6 seemed to know within a matter of hours, and Q was very close to buckling under the simple pressure of dozens of voices taking the piss out of something utterly harmless that made Q a  little happier on a day to day basis.

Bond knew, naturally. He had known from quite early on; his essential free pass in and out of Q’s office meant he had frequently entered to find Q typing frenetically with his owl pillow comfortably in his lap. “He’s Eric,” Q had murmured at one stage, and Bond had simply accepted it without further question.

When everything started building momentum, and Q was subject to mocking from seemingly all fronts, Bond intervened.

“It’s not a problem,” he told Q simply, voice calm. “Take pride in it. They will make your life hell, otherwise – you deserve better. It’s a quirk of yours, like the Earl Grey – everybody has something.”

It gave Q something of an idea, actually.

Being Quartermaster had some notable perks. Among them was the ability to spy on literally anyone, with minimal effort; Q simply needed to tap keys, and had access to surveillance systems that could make police states blush.

 _Everybody has something_.

Never was a truer word spoken.

Thus, with a vague smirk of satisfaction, Q tracked down everybody’s something. It was tricky, it had to be said, but Q had far too much time and far too many resources and was angry enough to not care about expending either in the hope of humiliating the bastards in MI6 who were making his life a little harder.

With a smirk of satisfaction, he pressed the ‘enter’ key, and deployed the lot.

“Ha,” Q smirked to his lover, as the strangled noises erupted from outside his office, and Q felt a surge of true satisfaction.


	406. Chapter 406

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would love a prompt about Q and Bond going to the London Dungeon. However, Q isn’t as scared as you would think he would be. It would be an honor! I just love what you’ve written so far! – anon

Bond winced as the nutcracker was brought out; Q, meanwhile, simply rolling his eyes. “To be honest,” he mused aloud, “if you are in custody and under torture, you have bigger things to think about than your…” he trailed off, looking at Bond.

Of course, Bond didn’t look overly concerned about most of it – he had experienced a good few – but some of the more antiquated ones at least elicited a small response. “Take this beauty, head crusher - puts some of your techniques to shame,” Q commented with happy fascination, as Bond eyed the crocodile shears with understandable wariness.

"I think the next room," Bond nodded, the actress leading them through the Fire of London. Q took to it rather well, pointing out each of the minor historical inaccuracies and enjoying the squeals of the preteen group there on a birthday party.

The court room was delightful, Q practically cackling with delight as Bond was pointed at and mocked openly. The boat ride too he sat up, loving the slight drops and eerie trickle around him, glancing around with a wide grin that Bond truly hadn’t anticipated..

"But… you hate horror films," Bond confirmed as they made their way towards Sweeney’s shop.

"Yep.”

“And yet this delights you?” Bond asked, genuinely confused.

Q frowned, mulling the thought over. “I have always had a rather morbid sense of humour and all this…” he looked around at the elaborate sets, unfazed. “It’s not gruesome, so to speak, it’s educational. And well, it’s fun, isn’t it?”

Bond had to agree, as he watched the over the top blood spilling into the floor. “I just can’t believe you have never been!” Q commented as they approached the end.

"Never came up," Bond shrugged, glancing forward at what looked to be a rollercoaster with sheer delight. "Is that…?”

“All yours,” Q assured him, smiling sweetly as he headed for the gift shop.

Bond laughed, as Q waved him off. “What happened to fun and educational?”

"Being dropped, rolled and hurtled through space? I’ll leave that to you," Q assured him, eyeing up a floating eyeball with distressing levels of interest. His attentions swayed, glancing back to Bond, holding up something and yelling after his lover: "Do you think M would appreciate a severed ear?"


	407. Chapter 407

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> According to uberfacts in Ancient Greece throwing an Apple to a woman was considered a marriage proposal. Can you write something 00q with that, like Bond tossing an apple to Q and Q joking about being proposed to. – blacknwhitecow

“ _Q_.”

Q looked up just in time to dart a hand out, with reflexes that frankly could put 007 himself to shame, and snag the apple out of mid-air. Honestly, Q hadn’t expected to catch the damn thing, but trying to clear crushed apple from his wall did not exactly appeal, to put it mildly.

He looked around for a long moment, trying to establish where in the hell said aerial missile had come from.

James bloody Bond, his charming partner, stood smugly at the opposite end of the room, looking admittedly impressed with Q’s catch. “Well done,” he said with a small nod, glancing over Q’s skinny form, as the young man took a decent bite from the thing.

“You know,” Q mused, through a mouthful of apple. “In Ancient Greece, throwing an apple to somebody was construed as a proposal of marriage.”

For a wonderful, lingering moment, Bond looked completely and utterly sideswiped. “What?” he managed, before catching himself a little. “I… really? How in the hell did that work?!”

Q raised an eyebrow in unapologetic amusement. “Man throws apple. Woman catches apple. Man and woman get married, supposedly. Which part is troubling you? The logistics, or the fact that you just proposed?”

It was probably mean, to taunt Bond with commitment-related jibes; he had never really been good with commitment, and jokes to that effect were not always met very well.  _But_ , it was far too funny an opportunity to pass up.

It was relatively easy to forgive himself.

Bond, on the other hand, looked like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“James,” Q said slowly. “You are aware that this is not binding? That you’re not _actually_  compelled to marry me because you chucked a Braeburn in my direction?”

“I’m going to keep an eye on what I throw from now on,” Bond said simply, drawing himself up a little. “And, for the record: when I propose, it will be far more impressive than a thrown apple.”

It was Q’s turn to be rendered speechless.

Bond smirked, and sauntered out the door with what remained of his dignity.


	408. Chapter 408

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can we have a story where Bond is just a normal guy but Q still works for MI6? I just really want civilian!Bond. – anon

Bond was, on a technical basis, retired. The navy had been an excellent experience, but was done now; he had been hit in the shoulder, and was now more than content to work for – of all things – an insurance firm, and simply let life keep moving for a little while.

The kid living across the way was of far more interest than his job, to put it mildly.

Q had never conceded to giving out his real name, was only in the flat for seemingly half an hour in any given day, was entrancingly beautiful and flirted with delicate finesse that rather appealed on a number of levels.

Therefore, Bond began investigating. Q was all but baiting him, and Bond pursued because he rather wanted to – Q was more than worth the effort, as far as Bond was concerned.

He brought Q bolognaise.

Q opened the door. He didn’t seem overly surprised to find Bond there; he smiled with a type of resignation, and stood back to allow Bond in.

His flat was a chaos of information. Computers, televisions, papers, all scrolling information in various forms of print, laptop open with what looked like the black scary-looking box that appeared on Bond’s computer if he ever needed an emergency reboot, and asked him to type in shortcut commands that made his head hurt.

“I dread to think what you do,” Bond commented drily.

Q grinned at him, shutting the door. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Q laughed, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. “So, are we eating that, or not?”

Bond returned a smile of his own, handing the bolognaise to Q, who just raised an eyebrow sceptically. “I love that you think I stand a hope in hell of cooking that,” he commented. “I can just about boil pasta, but I wouldn’t really trust me on it. I burn toast almost compulsively.”

“Oh, it’s  _you_  who keeps tripping the fire alarms,” Bond laughed, finding pans with surprising ease – Q just left them around the sides, apparently, in a hilarious opposition to his immensely tidy main room – and pouring the bolognaise into one pan, water into another. “Anyway. How’s your day been?”

“Once again – if I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”

Bond glanced over to him, raised an eyebrow. “You can tell me the general theme without needing to specify what happened,” he pointed out, as the smell of bolognaise filled the small kitchen. “Otherwise, dating can stall quite badly.”

“Dating?” Q asked, voice laden with amusement.

“Does this not constitute a date?” Bond parried. “Dinner, in your flat, of all places. I cooked. You presumably have wine, or equivalent alcoholic beverage. Ergo, a date.”

Q pulled open a drawer, collecting cutlery, shooting small glances at Bond. “I can work with that,” he said, a little quieter than previously, almost tentative. “Superb. Well, then. I’d better organise the next date, hmm?”

Bond smiled lightly. “By all means,” he murmured, with a gentle nod, and returned attention to the pasta.


	409. Chapter 409

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! You’re writing is amaaazing!! I have a prompt, could you do a fic base off of the shower scene from Casino Royale where Bond comforts Vesper because she has guilt about helping kill someone (but replaced with Q)? I love that scene in the movie, it’s quite moving and I thought it’d be interesting with Q. Thankss!!! You’re lovely! – anon

Q was nowhere to be found.

Being Quartermaster, Q had never needed to kill somebody personally, had never experienced blood on his hands. He had never needed to pull the trigger himself, sink a knife into a body, see light die or blood spill or feel a body convulse under his fingers.

Unfortunately, in a life or death situation, there were very few others options.

Bond had been there too, naturally; he had saved Q’s life with a well-aimed shot, and Q had withdrawn a gun of his own. He was an excellent marksman – truly spectacular, actually – but it was a very different matter to actually  _kill_  somebody.

He had been calm, collected. There had been blood everywhere, over his computers, over his desk, papers, shirt, cardigan. His breathing had sped up a little, heart rate and adrenaline spiking. Given the experience, Q was able to escape extremely quickly; Bond had to stay longer, to cover the paperwork while his Quartermaster ‘recovered’ from the trauma.

Now, Bond was home, with Q nowhere.

The shower was running.

Bond pushed open the door, finding Q under the jet, shivering violently with his clothes in a blood-stained puddle by the door. “Q, you’re going to freeze,” Bond said quickly, twisting the dial up; he hadn’t bothered to change it, had deliberately let himself shiver violently.

Q just shook his head, making a small noise under his breath as warmer water crashed over his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the shivering gradually reducing. “Fuck, I just…”

A single finger on his lips, and Bond climbed in fully, closing his lover’s naked body into his arms. There was nothing to be said; a life was gone, extinguished, and Q had been the one to do it. Not as simple as good or evil; a man with a family, with a life, ideas and ambitions and thoughts and a million neurons darting from one place to another, and Bond had become inured in many respects, but not so much that he didn’t remember how it felt the first few times.

Not to mention that Q was a very different creature to him. Q had always been far more connected with the people he worked with, the people around him. It made him a superb Quartermaster; his colleagues were his friends, his lover, his closest companions. His agents  _mattered_ , enough to do all he could humanly could to protect them.

Even when he wasn’t pulling the trigger, it was evident that it hurt.

Killing somebody in person was such a different feeling, and Q was simply unable to make himself calm.

Bond kept Q close, until his skin went from ice to warm to hot, steam cloaking them both, guarding them from everything.


	410. Chapter 410

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q Q and Bond despise one another. One night they get into a very heated argument when Bond confesses his love for Q and Q confesses his for Bond. Then possibly some NSFW..? Your choice, dear. <3 – anon

Q let out a scream of frustration, debating  _slapping_  his long-term partner just out of sheer, naked frustration. “James, this is  _not my fault_. I have work,  _you_  have work, and your bloody attitude towards it is  _shit_. It’s hard for me too, of course it’s  _bloody_  hard…”

“I’m allowed to feel like shit because I’ve  _watched people die_ ,” Bond yelled back, with all the power of a double-oh agent lingering at his fingertips, inches from exploding outwards. “I’ve killed people, and that doesn’t get easier…”

“I’ve ordered those goddamn deaths,” Q pointed, voice lowering abruptly, dangerous quiet. “I have their blood on my hands too…”

Bond shook his head, letting his voice fall too. “I have the blood of far too many people I love,” he murmured.

Q was utterly quiet. “Superb,” he hissed after a moment. “This is  _just_  about you, about you and your history of being too close to the situation. Of course, it’s about  _you_ , and your love life, your history of beautiful women who’ve died in front of you. Me, meanwhile, it doesn’t  _matter_  whether it hurts me too, because…”

He cut off.

Bond was breathing curiously hard. “Because what?” he asked softly, with a terrifying edge.

Q lifted his head slightly, lips pursed, pale and steady. “You don’t…” another trail off, a soft sigh, Q pinching the bridge of his nose harshly. “ _Fuck_ , James, you know what I mean.”

“Christ, Q,” Bond breathed. “You think I don’t love you”

Q let out a strange, half-cackle. “I don’t know,” he muttered, still not looking up, brows harshly contracted inwards. “I just…”

Bond moved closer, cupped a hand around Q’s cheek; Q flinched a little, but didn’t pull fully away. “Of course I love you,” Bond told him, with curious shock. “Q, I’ve loved you for a while.”

Q breathed out, twisting his body closer, pressing into Bond’s front. “I love you, too,” he murmured, Bond pressing a kiss to the top of his head, Q shivering slightly. “Fuck. You love me?”

“I love you,” Bond confirmed solidly, steadily. “I absolutely, completely love you.”


	411. Chapter 411

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is an ungodly wealthy businessman/property owner that has fingers in every pie and keeps running afoul of authorities and he’s extremely terrible to deal with. Shy newbie Q wins the most recent lottery to go and deal with him but Bond is extremely helpful, even if he seems to stare a lot and make improper jokes, and he’s done within an hour. His superiors are astounded and keep sending him whenever they need info. Q’s completely obvious to Bond’s attempts to woo him though cooperation. – anon

Q took a breath, and rapped on the door, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be too arduous. Quite honestly, he was  _dreading_  this entire encounter; Bond was a notorious nightmare, and Q had somehow wound up being in charge of trying to coax out information and avoid being decapitated by the single best contact MI6 had as to criminal underworld.

Bond pushed the door open, looked up and down Q, and smiled. “You must be the new one,” he said, with an amused smile. “Lovely. You had better come in.”

A far better start than Q had anticipated; he stepped through the door, following Bond down the corridor and settling in a deeply comfortable armchair. Bond pushed a tray of tea and coffee towards him, an elegantly extended hand allowing him to serve himself.

Q had to note that Bond had a terrifyingly intense stare. He simply didn’t stop. Q began tripping over his words intermittently, glancing up at Bond to find sharp blue eyes still intensely on him, each vacillating syllable from the older man making him smile and laugh half-nervously and swallow and realise he was  _beautiful_  and he was very easy to get information out of, actually.

When Q returned to HQ, everybody was in absolute awe. “Did you fuck him, or something?” one minion asked in awe, and Q shook his head in absolute mute shock and wondered what on earth he had done to make James Bond like him so much.

And yet, when Q went back, Bond was exactly the same. Every time. Q just had to open his mouth, and Bond would give him everything MI6 could conceivably want and then some. It was both immensely flattering, and a little bit weird.

Bond smiled, pushed more tea towards him; he had quickly learnt Q’s favourite brand of tea, and now supplied it whenever Q was there, made perfectly, with a light laugh and gentle questions about Q’s life, habits, hobbies. Q blushed, let out bits and pieces of information, didn’t notice the way Bond’s hands had strayed to cover his.

He did notice the more intimate touch; pushing hair away from his face, noting the smear on his glasses, the way he continued to stare like Q was the most fascinating sight in the world.

“Would you like to come to dinner with me?”

Q raised an eyebrow, utterly confused. “I…” he replied, softly and curiously. “Well. Yes, that would be… yeah. Dinner. Thank you.”

“Tonight?”

Bond had always been direct; Q abruptly began to realise that maybe, just maybe, Bond had been flirting from the beginning. That perhaps, he had been  _so_  cooperative because he  _liked_  Q. In every sense conceivable.

So, he extended a hand, and allow Bond to take him away.


	412. Chapter 412

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if you’ve done this before but could you do one where both Bond and Q are on a mission and James has found the perfect mark to start pressing for questions but she completely by passes Bond in favor of Q? Q doesn’t get it at first because he’s never been the guy that girls find interesting. Bond thinks it’s hilarious. – runemarks

Bond smirked, scouting out the right mark; Q sighed, and resigned himself to a slow evening drinking soft drinks and watching his boyfriend seduce an entrancingly beautiful young woman who he would probably need to have sex with, or at least get very  _close_  to having sex with, before returning back to their hotel room where Q would fuck him into the bed as revenge.

Q treated himself to a cocktail. “Yes, this is my friend,” Bond was saying, and Q looked around with faint alarm to see said gorgeous-looking woman glancing him up and down. “Quentin, this is Natalia.”

It was difficult not to wince; Q had needed some form of name while on the mission, and so had condescended to ‘Quentin’ in lieu of the rather obvious initial he usually worked under. “Hello,” he returned lightly, wondering why on earth he was being introduced; it wasn’t part of their initial mission brief. “Pleasure to meet you. Your dress is beautiful.”

Natalia let out a light laugh, smiling coyly, hand reaching out to brush Q’s. “I love your glasses,” she purred, and Q just snorted a little; he had never really been complimented on the glasses before. Apparently, they usually obscured rather than emphasised his features. “Don’t pout – they’re very debonair.”

Q’s mouth twitched in a smile, and Bond didn’t even pretend to not look tremendously amused. “I’ll leave you both to it,” he murmured, with a rather emphatic look towards Q.

Natalia watched him go, and turned back to Q, large dark eyes batting. Velvety skin, espresso dark, hair falling in gorgeous coils around her face.

She was utterly perfect, and utterly female, and thus utterly not Q’s type.

But it was a mission, and Q had a job to do. If Bond was unable to – which was odd, given that it was  _James Bond_  – and Natalia preferred  _Q_ , well. He would have to go through the mission, extract the relevant information, and return back to the hotel room as soon as he could.

He really hoped he wouldn’t have to have sex with her. Not because she was  _horrible_ , but because he had always found the idea really odd, and not exactly preferable, and had no idea what to  _do_  with women in bed outside the rather startlingly obvious. Q had never even really tried experimenting, as a young man; he had kissed a couple of girls, but anything further was just too weird.

Natalia, however, was quite content to lean in, pout heavily, bat eyes. Q smiled back, returning the touches as best he could, emulating Bond to a certain degree and gently probing out the answers to various questions he sailed under her radar.

Q was tugged, after a point, towards the door.

“Score,” Bond murmured in his ear, through the earpiece, and Q just shook his head slightly and wondered what on earth his life was coming to.


	413. Chapter 413

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I finally have a fill request…Q is the vampire (please no sparkles and is unaffected by sunlight as that’s just a myth). Attracted to Bond, he seeks to make Bond his thrall but Bond considers Q to be too young for him. Q decides to convince him otherwise. Hijinks ensue. Sexy-fun!times welcome but not required. Thanks! – kissofflame

Q had been pursuing him avidly for the past few months.

Bond had seen the signs; the looks, the touches, the slight smiles. Sending him away with a special piece of gear, cleaning up his paperwork. Q was definitely interested.

Of course it was flattering and, had he been ten years younger, he would already have jumped Q in the men’s bathroom and ravished him senseless. As it stood, the man was far, far too young for him.

A soft smile, and Q glanced him over. “Well,” he murmured. “You’ve worked it out, and you’re not delighted at my interests, are you?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “At least we’ve established that you  _do_  have an interest,” he parried. “I thought you would never admit to it.”

Q smirked. “Here we are, then - would you be interested in a form of relationship?”

"Q, look. I am incredibly flattered but…" Bond began, watching as Q’s face fell.

"But you aren’t interested,” he interjected lightly, glancing down to his mug. “Shame, I thought I read you differently. I have a lot to offer you, James."

Bond sighed slightly, sadly. “Q…”

"Don’t attempt to patronise me," Q told him mildly, an edge creeping into his tone. "I know more than you could imagine, James Bond. And believe me, I can offer you more than you could conceive of."

"I’m sure you could, you’re incredibly intelligent, I don’t doubt that Q," Bond assured him, trying to find a way to let the boy down gently. "And if you were a little older, then…"

"Then you would be interested?" Q asked, looking so damn  _amused_.

Bond shrugged slightly, apologetically.

Q rolled his eyes, twitching his mouth to one side in annoyance. A moment later, Bond was scrambling back, scared for probably the first time in living memory. “You’re…” he managed, staring at Q.

Q looked distinctly unimpressed. “Yes. Vampire. Over two hundred years. Old enough for you?”

"What? How, I mean, but you look…" Bond managed, staring at the extended fangs.

"Turned aged twenty four, a good age for my time," Q pointed out. Bond had naturally heard of vampires – who hadn’t – but most chose to detach themselves from human affairs. "Now, I will ask again: would you be interested in a form of relationship with me?"

Bond glanced him up and down, eyes wide, and nodded. “I don’t see any reason to object,” he said honestly, returning to himself now the shock had worn off a little. “Dinner?”

Q snorted.

"Touche," Bond laughed, and extended a hand.


	414. Chapter 414

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crazy Prompt time! Can I have a Q just got out of a long relationship and Bond quickly tries to get Q to be with him? P.S. I absolutely LOVE your writing, you are wonderful human beings! – anon

Q blinked languidly, eyes a little dead.

Bond walked into his office, knuckles knocking lightly. “You look like hell,” he said softly, gently. “What’s happened, Q?”

A small headshake, a slightly shaky motion. “Nothing,” he muttered, transparently lying. “I’m fine, 007. Thank you for your concern.”

Bond rolled his eyes, and shut the door. “Q,” he said again, firmly. “You’re not fooling anybody, least of all me. I know you pretty well. What’s happened?”

A small shrug. “Jamie,” he murmured back, running a hand through his hair, straightening a little; Bond sighed, taking a few steps towards Q’s desk. “I… it’s over, both of us. I thought we could make it work, but we can’t. Mutual decision, but… fuck, it’s  _Jamie_.”

Q and Bond had become good friends, over the preceding several months. They had a lot in common, and certainly shared a sense of humour. Bond knew of Jamie, of course, had even met the man; a lovely young thing, sweet enough, but clearly not in Q’s league.

Bond moved quickly to Q’s side, letting the younger man sob slightly, and crumple into his arms. “God,” he hiccupped, nuzzling slightly into Bond’s shoulder. “I’m going to  _miss him_.”

Q fell slightly stiller, calming.

Bond cupped Q’s cheek, turning his face upwards, rubbing tears away with a thumb and looking over him with an expression of quiet, utter care. “You’ll be alright,” he told Q steadily, tears clinging to his eyelashes.

A soft sigh, and Bond leaned in a little further.

Q didn’t object. He returned a soft kiss, lips smooth, skin damp. “James,” he murmured. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Bond pulled back, very hastily. “I’m sorry,” he said instantly. “I…”

“I know,” Q replied, surprisingly calm. “I know you like me, you’re not subtle, but  _not now_. I’m not angry, I just… s’too much to deal with, right now. So just, go away, please. I’m not angry, honestly, but I don’t… just, enough for now, if that’s okay.”

Bond nodded, letting Q lean up against the side of his desk, looking utterly exhausted. “I can get you some tea, if you want?” he offered, from a little distance, giving Q his space. “R can take it in, she won’t say a word, if you just want time…”

Q held up a hand, silencing him tiredly. “I’ll be alright,” he said calmly. “Just give me a moment. A moment. I’ll get tea then. Thank you, though. Make sure the kettle’s boiled, if you would.”

Bond nodded, and did as promised: left Q alone, with his thoughts, with his sadness, until the time was right.


	415. Chapter 415

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a little magpie, taking little trinkets from the 00s, particularly from the one he likes best, 007. James finds out and is a little tickled pink by the special attention. Fluff, I need more fluff in my life. Virtual cookies and cupcakes for you! :) – anon

Q’s Drawer was well known. Nobody touched Q’s Drawer. Absolutely nobody. Nobody was idiotic enough, for one; Q would rip their heads off if they so much as tried. The contents remained a state secret, which naturally meant that Bond was intent on finding out what in the hell was there.

He slid into Q’s office, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. If Q walked in, he would be absolutely fucked, but other than that he could probably get away with it.

Naturally, Bond had his own lockpicking kit, given to him by the Quartermaster himself; it could, supposedly, get through any lock in the world.

Bond really should have anticipated that Q would have his own failsafes. It should also have occurred that Q – knowing the facets of what his lockpicks  _would_  unlock – could make a lock that was immune to pretty much anything.

None of the above occurred, and continued to not occur until the moment Q walked into his office to catch Bond with his lockpick  _stuck_  in Q’s lock, the agent desperately trying to get it out and escape before the Quartermaster caught him. “Damn,” he said simply.

Q just rolled his eyes emphatically. “Really?” he asked wearily. “It’s just not that interesting. Honestly. Get back, and move away before you break that damn thing.”

Bond did precisely as he was told, looking relatively contrite. “I…”

“Not a word,” Q interrupted, hand up. “Hush, now.”

Q gently eased Bond’s lockpick out – handing it back with a light tut – before deftly unlocking it, and pulling it open.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “That’s… everything,” he managed.

It just about summed it up. Everything the double-ohs had discarded or broken or lost, anything retrievable, had apparently been stashed in the drawer. “Just about,” Q agreed. “I… collect things, really. I always have. But particularly people I happen to care about, and while emotionally invested in the wellbeing of my agents, I keep hold of their castoffs just as… security, I suppose.”

Bond’s mouth remained hanging slightly open.

A terrifyingly large amount was his. About half the drawer, actually.

_… people I happen to care about…_

Bond blinked. “You like me,” he stated, quite definitely not as a question. “Christ. You like me a  _lot_.”

“Essentially,” Q nodded, relatively unapologetic. “Problem?”

Bond smiled slightly, and without a moment of hesitation, kissed his Quartermaster.


	416. Chapter 416

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey!! you guys are rad as heck okay i love reading your stuff <3 so here’s an attempt at a prompt: q decides to accept the offer of another agency to join their ranks to get away from bond because he feels his one-sided love beginning to negatively affect his professionalism so he leaves without saying goodbye to bond some time later they randomly run into each other at a conference bond as m’s bodyguard q as chief tech and vice-director of the agency he joined also make it angsty if you want :) – anon

Bond’s Armani suit was gorgeously cut, a very complimentary outfit for a man who was getting on, these days. The golden days of double-oh work had faded out, leaving Bond as an exceptional bodyguard for M. It was far less intense – mostly chaperoning in and out of functions – but it kept him busy, and avoided the itchy pain of utter boredom.

“James?”

Bond turned. “Good god. Q. How are you, these days?”

Q looked incredible. He honestly did; a couple of years had given Q a new edge of cheekbone, a little height, a better stance. “I’m good,” he replied softly, looking Bond up and down, almost breathless. “Blimey.”

“What brings you here?” Bond asked, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter and handing it to Q; the younger man almost blushed, his smile a little shy.

Q shrugged a little. “I’m the VP,” he replied, almost apologetically. He felt like he had regressed a large number of years, back to MI6, a far younger man looking at the beautiful double-oh agent he had fallen in love with, knowing it would never be reciprocated, heart cracking slightly around the edges.

“ _Shit_ ,” Bond replied, a sharp exhale, grinning. “Good on you, Q. Is it still Q, sorry?”

Q’s grin was mirror. “I kept Q, yeah,” he replied lightly. “Seemed simpler, I had a terrible name, and I got used to Q, so… you, you’re looking good. I’m guessing you’re off active duty?”

Bond nodded his head, not bothering to disguise his sadness at that fact. “It’s a bit dull,” he admitted. “It’s not the end of the world, though. I thought I’d deal with it a lot worse, I have to say.”

“I’m happy for you,” Q told him, smiling slightly, still utterly stunned.

He had loved Bond so much, once. So much.

“Q,” Bond asked, quietly. “Would you like to get a drink, at some stage? Catch up properly.”

It was everything Q had wanted. He would have given the world for that sentence, years ago, back in MI6 when everything had been fresh and new and beautiful. “Yes,” he said carefully, slowly. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”


	417. Chapter 417

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I, like hundreds of other tumblr’ers, /LOVE/ your writing, it’s all so brilliant and I’m not ashamed to say I obsessively check your blog almost three times a day for updates XD anyway,I have a prompt: James is a mob boss and Q is his consigliere. James is very protective of Q and when Q is hurt in order to get to James, he takes it very personally <3 basically James being a BAMF as always, if you please XD – lou-luvs-hats

Q had been the right-hand man of James Bond – a very respected, very known mafia boss – for most of his life, and Bond’s. A teenager had fallen in with the mob, quite by accident, and quickly risen through the ranks to find James Bond himself.

At that point, Bond had been a fledgling, a man forming connections and contacts by inches. Ten years later, he de facto controlled most of London, with control and established links to many other major cities in England. Birmingham, Liverpool, even spanning up to Edinburgh, if Q’s latest endeavours were to be fruitful.

Q was the most trusted person of the mob, the man who spent the most time with Bond. It was heavily rumoured that they were together, that Q was his son, his cousin, his brother, a friend from his childhood, an ex-secret service employee gone rogue. Any number of stories.

One was true, and neither would breathe a word of which.

Nobody touched Q. That was a simple fact.  _Nobody_  touched Q, hurt Q. Q was sacrosanct, and anybody who did dealings with Bond knew that.

Thus, when Q was abducted, it was a direct statement of war. Anybody who hurt, threatened, so much as  _touched_  Q died, and slowly.

A list of demands landed on Bond’s desk, along with a DVD of Q, being beaten. Crying out,  _bleeding_.

Bond raised an eyebrow, and went into action.

Q was propped against a wall, looking utterly exhausted and rather battered. “You took your time,” he said primly, blood coating his teeth, otherwise very much intact. “Honestly, I’ve actually broken ribs, this time around. If I’d had a punctured lung…”

“They’re dead and dying as we speak,” Bond told him, voice low and utterly, exhilaratingly lethal. “Let’s get you out, shall we?”

Q nodded slightly, tiredly. “A hand would be excellent, if you wouldn’t mind,” he mumbled, eyes sliding shut. “Thank you, James, as always.”

“My pleasure,” he murmured, and gently lifted Q into his arms, taking him out of the building while his colleagues dispatched the rest of those who had tried to take Q away from him.


	418. Chapter 418

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q will never EVER declare his love for James, except that it slips out and he does it during the most awkward/sweet/inappropriate moments. – anon

Bond placed a mug of tea on Q’s desk, with an accompanying plate of bourbon biscuits.

Q looked up.

It had been nearly seventy hours without a break, without sleep, with minimal food and maximum stress. Two were dead, another seven had come very close, and Q blinked exhaustion out of his eyes and continued yelling at people over the comm systems. “Oh god, James,” he mumbled. “I love you.”

Q blushed all the way to his toes, the thrum of honesty in that final statement making Bond’s eyebrow raise slightly. “And you,” Bond murmured, and left his lover alone.

-

Bond was running, and Q was running, and they both moved with terrifying speed and couldn’t stop, didn’t dare stop, Q falling over and losing his grasp of Bond’s hand, impacting on tarmac and talking through his earpiece, keeping connected to Bond as best he could. “I love you, James,” Q managed, in utter panic. “Fuck,  _fuck_. I love you…”

-

Q woke up feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. “James?” he managed, voice rasping. “James?!”

“I’m here, don’t try and talk,” Bond advised gently. “You’re a mess, but you’re definitely alive.”

“Good,” Q murmured. “That’s good. I told you I love you, didn’t I?”

Bond’s eyebrow raised in amusement. “Yes, I think you did,” he agreed.

Q nodded to himself, eyes sliding shut. “Good, ‘cos I meant it,” he mumbled, and passed out.

-

Bond appeared in the doorway of Q-branch, and just waited for a moment, watching his lover in action. Q was beautiful, compelling; Bond had never been able to resist just _looking_ , revelling in the brilliance of him, the tangible wonder of a creature like Q. His Q.

Q turned around, and saw him.

“My god,” he mumbled, dropped everything he was doing, and ran to the door.

Bond caught him, air knocked out of him by the force of Q’s body impacting, arms wrapping around him. “Christ, Q,” he laughed, scooping Q half into the air, letting Q bury himself into Bond’s arms. “It’s only been a fortnight.”

“I love you,” he breathed, and didn’t care – for once – that everybody could see.


	419. Chapter 419

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’d just like a story where Q is taught how to drive by Bond in the middle of their mission as 007 is too injured to do so himself during the getaway… which turns out to be unnecessary as years of tinkering with machines has made him a natural with vehicles. Q apparently drives the same way he hacks - fast, dangerous and unstoppable. Bond finds himself inconveniently aroused, all while bleeding buckets over the leather interior of the Aston Martin. Happy ending please. :) – anon

“Car in gear, let it catch,” Bond rasped, blood pouring through his fingers, blinking languidly. “Fuck.  _Fuck_.”

Q grinned, put the car in gear confidently, and shot the car forward like a bullet; Q let out a whoop of pure exhilaration, wheeling around, laughing in curious hysteria. “ _Christ_ , it’s been a while,” he crowed, the car nearly tipping over altogether as he whipped it around a corner. “Jesus, I understand why you do this.”

“You’re going to  _kill us_ ,” Bond yelled, placing as much pressure on the injury as humanly possible and hissing in pain. “You are going to  _kill us_ , you fucking  _idiot_.”

Q snapped a sharp look around at him. “Trust me, won’t you?!” he growled. “I spend my life making  _your cars_ , so oddly enough, I know  _how they work_.”

“You struggled to put it in gear!”

“Different model. R did this one,” Q pointed out, affronted, and sped up a notch or twelve. “This is fun. This is  _so much fun_. Shame we’re going to have to reupholster the seats.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Are you blaming me for trashing the car?” he asked, with a note of danger. “I’m  _bleeding_.”

“I noticed,” Q parried blithely. “All over the nice upholstery. As ever: nice equipment, trashed. You shouldn’t have got shot.”

Bond was all but  _gaping_  at the unfairness of that particular statement. “Q.  _Bleeding_. Bleeding-out-type-bleeding. A little sympathy for your dying lover would be appreciated.”

Q snorted. “You’ve come back from far worse,” he considered. “This is mild in comparison. Now stop whinging, and concentrate on staunching the flow, yes? Also, while diverting blood to your cock is an admirable tactic, not necessarily ideal for keeping you conscious.”

Bond growled, and did as he was told, trying not to blush at the fact that he couldn’t will away the erection that Q seemed to be unapologetically triggering.

"It’s an  _Aston Martin_ ,” Bond whined, sad and petulant. He loved the car. He absolutely and entirely  _loved_  the car. “And what do you mean, ‘R did it’? I thought  _you_  did all my equipment?”

"I don’t have the rest of my life to patch up the things you’ll break within twenty minutes," Q told him primly, skirting around a corner so fast the car whined, and bounced off the curb with a noise that made Bond swear energetically and look slightly tearful. "Ooh, there goes the suspension, I’ll have a look at that later."

Bond shook his head slightly. “You’re a fucking hypocrite,” he muttered. “Q, you’re a  _hypocrite_.”

"Am not. Do as I say, not as I do. You drive like a maniac regardless of people bleeding or not," he said objectively, turning and grinning manically. "You’ll be fine James, keep breathing."

"I hate you."

Q  _cackled_.


	420. Chapter 420

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: there is a mole in MI6 revealing the identities of all it’s employees to a terrorist. The terrorist has been killing low ranking members, being the paranoid boyfriend Bond is he starts following Q home without Q knowing and finally one day Q gets attacked. Bond takes down the men he sees and tells Q to run, Q does and he gets shot. – anon

“Oh,  _fuck_ ,” Q breathed.

M shook his head, jaw set, angrier than anybody could know. His employees were being taken out one by one, from the simple secretaries to – quite recently – a successful attempt on the life of an off-duty active agent. Now, R – Q’s second in command – had been targeted.

Q had lost his most trusted colleague, and more than that, a good friend. “I’m next,” he murmured. “Either they’ll hit the double-ohs – which I think would be suicidal, or at least optimistic – or they’ll go for me.”

A few looks were exchanged, and M nodded. “Alright. Security detail for you, and all other vital but low-impact employees, is being upped as of now. That will mean reports on movement, et cetera. Q…”

“Bond will be a nightmare all on his own, but a security detail would be lovely,” he said, a little begrudgingly; walking home, the Tube, were all integral little bits of his life that he happened to rather enjoy being able to do. “Thank you, M.”

“No need to thank me, I’m increasing my own bloody security,” he muttered, reaching for his hair briefly, sighing. “Well. You’ll need to employ a new R. I’m sorry, Q.”

Q shrugged a little, and sighed.

-

Going home was only a little more laborious, with people skulking in the background. Q knew they were there, and, for the most part, ignored them.

Thus, he didn’t notice when they started being picked off, one by one. They were supposed to be invisible – nothing attracted hostile attention more than security – and really, just became more invisible than expected.

Q ambled along the street to his flat, the evening relatively cold and definitely damp, but it was London at night which was something Q had always loved.

It was a little bit of a surprise, when Bond bowled into him with enough strength to knock him off his feet. “James, the  _fuck_ …”

“ _RUN_ ,” he yelled, entire body in the way, his own gun out. Q blinked, abruptly realising there was a bullet hole in the concrete next to him; the sound came afterwards, registering with a flash of pure shock.

He was being shot at.

Well  _fuck_.

Q scrambled to his feet, and did precisely what he was told. Bond yelled orders, Q wondered briefly how Bond coped with people telling him off while on a mission or running, and the floor was very close and impacted very painfully which was odd, because something had hit him.

The stories were true; pain didn’t actually register for a moment. Q simply wondered what in the hell had happened, for an odd moment.

Then, of course, the pain started.

Q passed out.


	421. Chapter 421

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ could you write a fic where Bond and Q’s relationship is public knowledge in MI6, and everyone thinks that Q is all wide-eyed and innocent. So Tanner and Eve scold Bond whenever he gropes/kisses Q. Bond tries to explain that Q is a total sex kitten, but no one believes (Maybe an “accidentally” leaked 00Q sextape proves MI6 wrong…) – anon

Q knew something was wrong when Paul didn’t look him in the eyes when he handed him his morning tea. The rest of his branch seemed to be impressively busy when he walked in.

“R?” Q called, settling himself at his work station. His second in command scurried to his side, blushing an impressively deep scarlet when Q began speaking. “I need the latest mission notes from 001’s Morocco excursions, and… and what. Why is everybody watching me like I’m imminently going to implode or eat them? What’s somebody done?”

R glanced up, glanced straight down again. “I, erm… well. I think  I can only really… show you, to be honest, because everybody’s just had several preconceptions overturned and so we’re all a bit… well, nobody knows quite what to say any more. Everybody’s been telling off Bond for so long, and…”

Q held up a hand, eyebrow arched in a way that indicated some worry, and general un-amusement. “This is to do with Bond?” he asked, voice tight. “What  _now_?”

“He, erm, he had a picture… I think it was probably quite personal,” R continued, blushing furiously as she looked to the others in branch for assistance. All eyes were locked onto screen instantly.

“It sounds it, yes.” Q smiled icily, “Well? Where is it?”

“…It’s the Q-branch screensaver.”

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Q stalked to the nearest computer, pressed a few keys deftly, and popped up a picture of him and Bond in full BDSM regalia, outside a club they had been at the previous week.

Everybody took one look at Q’s face, and promptly scattered. “Not even my favourite collar,” he muttered to himself – just within R’s earshot – and went into his office to find  _everything_  Bond was due to receive from Q-branch, and sabotage them.

-

The thing was that Bond, after a certain point, was getting rather bored of Q refusing to admit to his own borderline hypersexuality. The thing was that Q was  _unbelievably_ virile, and spent half his life texting, looking,  _gyrating_  in ways that Bond really was powerless against. The thing was that revenge could only be achieved in a handful of forums, and Bond really felt that this form of revenge was most apt.

“You realise that was incredibly unprofessional?” Q told him, as he swanned into their flat that evening, Bond’s equipment tucked beneath his sadly unflattering parka. “I have already received three separate texts from Eve commenting on my body, sex drive and cardigans. In that order.”

“I am very bored of being told to stop taking advantage of you,” Bond shrugged, as he looked suspiciously over his equipment. “I take it none of that is going to work properly?”

“If the gun fires, I’ll give you a round of applause.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Challenge accepted. Not to mention that surely  _that_ constitutes being unprofessional? Now – you will  _stop_  getting me into shit from the Powers that Be, and scaring your bloody minions, over your sex drive.  _Your_  sex drive, Quartermaster.

Q smirked, shimmying to Bond’s side. “Yes, Mr Bond. Your sex drive is a separate and terrible entity all on its own. Now,” he continued, draping himself over Bond’s lap, bottom lip full and pink and gorgeous. “You wanted something from me?”

“You little shit,” Bond said, without much vitriol, and they promptly fell into bed.


	422. Chapter 422

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you seen shipimpala’s newest gifset? The ransom/stockholm one. Could you write something based on that? Pretty please – anon

Q stared at the barrel of the gun, breath slightly hesitant, but almost passing for steady. Bond held it firmly, expression completely blank as the other man’s eyes flicked upwards, catching him for a moment.

“Are you going to kill me?”

The question was heartbreakingly quiet, cutting through the heavy air that cloaked the pair of them. The gun remained in place, inching closer until it caressed the boy’s forehead; he let out a small noise, almost inaudible, continuing to watch Bond through diamond green eyes.

Bond smirked, lowered the gun. “No. I’m not,” he returned easily, and sank to Q’s level in one easy, fluid movement. Q was bound to the wall by an ankle shackle and length of chain, which actually allowed a fair amount of movement for a kidnapper. “I apologise for what I’m about to do: shirt off, and I want your wrist, please.”

Q looked at him guardedly. “And if I don’t?”

A short sigh; Bond whipped around, backhanding his young hostage in the face. Q toppled to one side, picking himself up awkwardly and holding a hand to his now-bleeding nose. “Do you understand?” Bond asked simply.

Naturally, the boy nodded. He reached for the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking slightly, tugging it off to pool between them.

With a little shake that neither acknowledged, Q extended his hand towards Bond.

Bond grasped it hard, pulling it back so the inner wrist was exposed; Q was doing very well, until the moment Bond pulled out a short penknife. “Fuck,” he said quickly, trying to pull his hand back. “Fucking  _hell_ , no, please…”

With an exasperated eye roll, Bond brought the knife down.

To Q’s credit, he managed not to scream; he made a series of odd little gasping noises, both watching with dispassion and morbid fascination respectively, as blood trickled to pool in the palm of Q’s hand.

Bond reached for the shirt, daubing the blood off to seep ominously into the fabric. He grabbed a camera phone, focusing in on the loose palm, blood smeared and collecting and dripping with surprising speed. “Fuck,” Q breathed to himself, watching blood splash on the wood floors below. “ _Fuck_.”

“It’s not a dangerous injury,” Bond told him calmly; the photograph taken, he stood briefly and brought a bag of medical supplies to Q’s side. Q didn’t say a word as Bond’s eyes narrowed, carefully examining the wound he’d left behind. “It’s the impact, you understand. As I’m sure you’ve gathered, I’m not in the business of permanent mutilation.”

“How would I know that?”

Bond looked up at him, no hint of gentleness in his eyes. “If I was, you would already be in pieces,” he stated, and returned his attention to Q’s wrist.

They were silent for a moment. Q had long-since worked out why he was there, and didn’t really feel like wasting words on somebody who was there to extort money out of others. Instead, he watched, carefully examining the various physical assets, realising that in any other circumstance he would consider Bond very aesthetically attractive.

Spectacularly unhelpful at that moment, however.

Q took a breath, exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes. His wrist was  _throbbing_ , a surprisingly intense pain for a ‘not dangerous’ injury.

For a heartbeat, he could have sworn he felt a kiss brush his temple.

Sleep.


	423. Chapter 423

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q, who not Q at this point, works for Interpol and MI6 wants him to come work for them. He’s a British National after all, he should be working for the home team. However, they’re being stonewalled and diverted every time they try to coax him back to England. Desperate times call for desperate measures so they send 007 to bring him back to MI6 using whatever means necessary against the bureaucracy of Interpol. – anon

Q tapped off the final few lines of the report he needed completing, and emailed it off to his requisite superiors. Exhaustion seeped through every fibre of his being; he was in the unenviable position of being invaluable, but caught in a haze of bureaucracy. Supposedly, he would be able to lead the technical division of Interpol within six months.

He would be rather surprised, to put it mildly, if he was. They refused to allow somebody of his age and relative lack of experience to lead a branch.

Thus Q – who went by varying pseudonyms, none an initial, none reflecting his actual name – was waiting it out. Proving that he was exceptionally good at his job, in the hope of getting a role that actually reflected his ability and time input.

He stepped out of the building, bag slung over his shoulder. Lyon was beautiful at night, especially in summer, with the coolness that comes after a too-hot day; Q never really spent time in the daylight these days, but loved the aftermath when he finally ambled home.

It took less than forty seconds to ascertain that he was being followed.

It took less than four seconds after that realisation for a hand to clasp over his wrist. “Good evening,” an almost-polite voice told him.

Q glanced over his new-found assailant; tall, well-built, blonde and blue-eyed and very good looking indeed. “How can I help you?” Q returned cautiously; the other downside to being so low-ranked was that nobody bothered giving him a decent security detail. It just didn’t seem fair.

“My name’s Bond. James Bond,” the other man told him; a flash of recognition, and Q smiled almost delightedly.

“My  _god_ , 007,” he said instead, making Bond pause for a heartbeat in sheer surprise. That was rather satisfying. “To what do I owe the honour? I’ve been watching your recent missions,” in his spare time of course, running through the actions and security and scans, sliding through MI6 firewalls like they were made of paper, “and really, I’m delighted to meet you. I’d like to assume you’re not here to kill me, or I’d already be dead, and MI6 won’t risk a fight with Interpol if you’re here to… interrogate…”

Bond smiled almost genuinely. “I’m here to offer you a job,” he said frankly. “On behalf of MI6. Interpol are refusing to allow us access, I doubt you’re even aware of our interest…”

Q blinked; this was heading in an uncertain direction. “A job. MI6 want to give me a job.”

“Headhunting,” Bond agreed. “Actually, they want you in our technical branch – Q-branch – to give you division-specific training to allow you to take over as Quartermaster.”

In the middle of a street in Lyon, Q abruptly needed to sit down. “Quartermaster?” he echoed. “Shit.  _Shit_.”

“If you’re amenable, I’ll be taking you back to the UK this evening,” Bond smiled, looking rather smug about the whole affair.

Q glanced him over curiously. “And if I’m not?”

Bond shrugged. “I’ll take you anyway,” he admitted. “But if you go willingly, I’d also like to offer you dinner. I know a good place here that’s open late, and then we can get you back home. Sound manageable?”

It certainly sounded better than being knocked out and transported in the boot of a car to the UK. Not to mention that  _Quartermaster of MI6_  was not an opportunity to be passed up in a hurry; Q knew he was good, his work gaining international attention, but this was new.

Plus, he fucking  _hated_  Interpol.

Q extended his hand to Bond, smiling sweetly. “You have a deal, Mr Bond.”


	424. Chapter 424

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haaaaiiii, I love your writting! I was wondering if you could write this for me: 00q, M16 is attacked. Q is (badly?) injured protecting Bond and they end up being trapped somewhere together, alone, and waiting for help that doesn’t seem to be coming as soon as Bond hoped. I’m in a crappy mood and need some sadness, blood and stuff! Wooo <33 - runemarks

Q rattled off the last of the magazine, and paused, breathing a little elevated. Bodies were strewn over the floor, bleeding sluggishly, Bond glancing around at Q with an impressed expression while the latter just stared. “Wow,” he mumbled, slightly shocked by his own actions. “Well. That was different. Problem solved, it would seem.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I have to agree,” he nodded, before something exploded.

In a heartbeat, Q’s body was curled over Bond’s, as the pair were thrown sideways.

For a moment, both of them were still, in utter shock. The lights had all blown in an instant as the electricity failed, rubble scattering about them, dust choking the thin air around them. “Q, are you alright?” Bond asked urgently, the moment he regained control.

Q shifted awkwardly, and hissed in air, obvious pain. “Well. Not precisely ideal,” he admitted quietly, too-still. “Several things hurt. I… I don’t know, actually,” he continued, with a very light giggle, slightly anxious. “Erm…”

Bond uncurled himself from Q’s body, eyes adjusting quickly and glancing over him, a little frantically. “Talk to me.”

“I think I’m bleeding,” Q murmured. “That’s not very good, is it? I don’t bleed very much, usually. Bruise like a peach, but bleeding is new. Especially, erm… James, I’m a little worried actually. It’s all in my mouth, tastes horrible.”

“Shh,” Bond said soothingly, covering his own worry as he carefully traced hands over his younger lover, finding the flatness of intact ribs, before dipping lower to find Q’s hands carefully over his abdomen. “Q, where does it hurt?”

Q let out a small noise. “Lots hurts. Left, I think. Not really sure any more. I… James, am I alright? You’re quiet, and you’re  _never_  quiet…”

Oddly, there was little in the way of external injury. Bond breathed out slowly, carefully. If there were no external wounds, then there was a decent chance he had internal injuries of some description. “I’m fine,” Bond lied calmly. “We just need to wait out for help, now.”

“’kay,” Q mumbled; Bond’s fingers fastened around Q’s wrist, feeling the pulse elevate above and beyond usual levels.

 _Fuck_ , Bond thought to himself; there was no electricity, no light, no water. Nothing, in short, that would be of any damn help. “Q, I need to try and find some things…”

“No,” Q said quickly, glancing up at him. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here. I know you’re worried and there’s something wrong, something wrong with me, and I don’t want to die alone so James bloody Bond, you are going to  _stay here_  and look after me, do you understand? I sent out a distress signal earlier so, so they’ll come, they’ll come for us but don’t…”

Bond hushed him again, gently. He couldn’t risk moving Q’s body at all, instead curling his fingers through Q’s, stroking his hair softly as Q grew a  little cold, a little sweaty. “Q, it’s going to be alright,” he said quietly, kissing him very gently, tasting blood.

They would come. They had to come.


	425. Chapter 425

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have seen so many fics of Bond asking Q to hold on and do not give the info to his kidnappers. But I would love to see a fic where Bond loved Q more than anything, even MI6 or the safety of whole nation. So one where Q is denying to give out info but Bond BEGS Q to speak? – anon

Q was sobbing hard enough to make himself literally sick, bleeding profusely, cringing back from blows that continued to fall, again and again, until his body was broken and splayed at odd angles and almost wholly motionless.

He had refused to say a single word to betray his country, and they were unlikely to stop until he did.

Bond had undergone the first round of torture. They believed that, given Q’s emotional connection, seeing his partner in pain would be enough to break him; Q watched, pallor going pale to white to sallow to green, tears falling wordlessly down his cheeks as Bond screamed and laughed himself hoarse to ride it out.

They got bored, eventually. Bond was almost pointless to torture; he had an acquired headspace, a place where the pain failed to reach maximum impact. After a certain point, there was no point whatsoever in torturing the agent.

Q, on the other hand, was a relative amateur in surviving torture.

They were tearing him apart. Bond could see it, and knew they could see it. Physically, he was started to fall to pieces, and it was a frightening though, to realise that Q might stubbornly refuse to say a word. If he did, there was always the chance that they’d kill him.

“Give them what they need,” Bond pleaded, as Q dangled in chains, arms above his head and stretched to the ceiling. He looked exhausted, head collapsed forward on his chest, shaking with the simple exertion of holding his own weight.

He managed a slight shake of his head, and whimpered faintly under his breath.

“Q, they’ll kill you,” Bond told him, harsher now, body and mind tuned to this world and the stark realities of it. “They’ll take their time. Feed them bits and pieces, stall them, and we have a chance of you getting out of here.”

Q remained silent, breathing shallowly a moment. “And how many people,” he rasped, through a bruised and torn throat, mottled from the rope they’d strung around it earlier, “will die from just ‘tidbits’?”

With that, he let out a choked series of noises. “James, you can’t tell me to give up,” he begged, with the desperation of a man at the end of his sanity. “You have to keep me going, I can’t do this on my own. Please.  _Please_ , don’t make me do this on my own.”

Bond’s voice is very quiet. “I’m sorry.”

-

They try waterboarding next. Q resolutely gets through it, says absolutely nothing, mostly silence until he is crying and choking and, blissfully, passes out.

Interestingly, he only starts sobbing when Bond starts talking.

He begs Q to speak, and Q begs for everything to stop.

-

Q is dying.

Bond can see it, and is almost certain their captors can too.

He is a very long way from broken. Q’s psyche can apparently survive near enough anything, but physically, he is a terrifyingly short way from everything giving up. Bond knows how many ways in which a person can die, and wonders, in absolute terror, if he is about to watch yet another.

Bond would give them the world, if he only knew how.


	426. Chapter 426

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had a hell of a day (well, more like 30+ hours) and I have a fic request. Q messes something up by mentioning a program or a secret to the wrong branch of MI6. People underestimate his ability to fix the problem because it’s a human one, not a computer error, but everyone is eventually shocked and impressed as he manages to talk his way out of the situation and unruffle all the feathers. – silhouetteofagirl

Q winced, but was not altogether surprised, when M headed into Q-branch looking like chaos incarnate, and almost immediately started laying into him for his recent ‘appalling’ actions, breach of trust, breach of law, breach of general morality, stupidity, recklessness…

The list continued, and Q waited – very patiently – for him to tail off, puffing like a steam train and a glorious shade of crimson. “Good afternoon,” Q said calmly, managing to somehow avoid insubordination due to a quirk in his tone of voice. “Alright. As to the catalogue of insults you have just – quite rightly – thrown in my direction, I can offer my sincerest apologies.”

M opened his mouth, inches away from another colourful tirade; Q-branch watched with mute terror, wondering whether their relatively respected leader was about to be unceremoniously decapitated, and whether they would have to do the paperwork for the cleanup.

Q managed to interrupt, tone entirely calm. “I have spoken to the relative superiors within Medical, and ascertained that they are content to let the breach of information go,” he continued, quite lightly.

A member of Medical actually waved, from Q’s office, with an expression of mild terror and general support for Q. “This has been done?” M snapped at the man, who nodded and attempted to sink into his chair and disappear forever.

“M, my actions were inexcusable,” Q admitted, with a note of true repentance. “I understand that you’re livid, I would be too – but there is no lasting damage. I have diffused the situation within their branch and my own, and all that remains is for you to undersign that you are content that I can continue doing my job to the best of my abilities, as I have been.”

To everybody’s great amusement, and outright confusion, M was rendered completely speechless. “I…” he managed, gaping like a fish out of water. “Well. I didn’t expect… Q, you need to be aware that a situation like this cannot be repeated.”

Q inclined his head eloquently, while Q-branch looked on, more than prepared to give him a standing ovation for how he had handled the whole debacle. “You have my word,” he confirmed gently.

M stormed out, and Q-branch sat in stunned silence.

“Back to work, ladies and gentlemen,” Q called sharply, and the flurry of movement began once again.


	427. Chapter 427

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’ve read a few of your 00Q fics and I thought they were stellar, and I was wondering if you’d have a go at this prompt. For some reason Q ended up having to defend himself in front of a few of the 00 agents, (he might have been in the field or someone tried to kidnap him) and they are very impressed. They take to calling him 00Q as a joke that he could be a 00 agent too. Extra points for actual 00Q :) - siriuslymad

"What is he doing there?" Bond asked as he watched Q being led in.

001 and 006 crouched behind him, eyes narrowed.

It had been a massive op; they were taking out most of a Middle Eastern smuggling network, in a complex series of carefully planned manoeuvers. Manoeuvers that did _not_  include their handler being tied to a chair, looking remarkably bored. “Is this really necessary?” he asked aloud, oblivious to the other agents in the vicinity who were about to stage a Brilliant Rescue.

An extremely unnecessary Brilliant Rescue, as it transpired.

From within Q’s watch, a device made short work of the bonds holding him, just as the kidnappers turned to beat the arrogant boy.

The man lunged, punch missing as Q sprang out of the chair, palm of his hand shooting up the attacker’s nose; it shattered neatly, blood spraying in an elegant arc. Q whipped around, getting a second in the groin before deploying a series of taser charges that seemed to appear from every point on his anatomy, in a full circle, effectively able to shock everything in circles around him.

They fell like planks.

"Out you come, ladies and gentlemen."

"Holy shit," Alec swore as they rose from their positions. Q straightened the cuffs of his shirt neatly as they moved over to him, 001 checking pulses of the unconscious men.

"They shouldn’t be that badly harmed, though I can’t guarantee the one who attempted to assault me is still breathing," Q told them calmly. "Which I hope we can all agree was self-defence."

Bond nodded mutely. Alec’s mouth was still hanging open.

001 - whom nobody called by her first name, for reasons pertaining to keeping their testicles intact - just grinned. “Oh, that’s brilliant,” she snorted. “You should be one of us, you know!”

"Yeah, get him a licence," Alec agreed, as Bond did a sweep of the room.

Q smirked slightly. “As endearing as that is 006 I think you’ll find we are running out of numbers under ten.”

Alec thought for a moment, looking to his colleagues. “Well, then. You could just be 00Q.”

Q snorted, in tandem with Bond. “That’s…”

"… brilliant," Bond completed. "00Q. We’re keeping it. Let the others know. Honorary double-oh."

"I’d say toss him a gun, but doesn’t look as though he’s gonna need one," 001 remarked, as Q nodded.

"I have enough equipment on me to sink small ships," Q told them. "Strip searching is apparently for lesser beings."

"Lesser beings my arse," Bond snorted. "Welcome to the group, 00Q."

"I hate you," Q muttered with a grin, and led the way out.


	428. Chapter 428

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I follow you and love your writing!!! Could you please do a 00q fic where James is depressed and rejecting Q? Please angst and maybe James gets very drunk alot and Q doesn’t know what to do? - madwriterscorner

It had to be there somewhere, it was just  _there_ …

Bond groped in the darkness, trying to find the gin he had been holding mere moments ago.

Sudden light blinded him, forcing his eyes shut as they stung at the strange influx. The gin was removed, he could hear it being taken. Lunging blindly, he half caught a trouser leg. “Give it back,” he called, as the thief kicked him off.

"No more, Bond, or med will be pumping it out,” a voice told him, as the world began to swim into view.

Bond rubbed a hand along his forehead, everything aching, exhaustedly looking up at the man standing above him. “What are you doing here?”

Q had moved, hiding the bottle somewhere. (Bond would find it later). “You weren’t at work. People were worried, and someone needed to check you hadn’t drunk yourself into a coma,” Q told him drily.

"And that’s your job, is it?" Bond mocked, leaning against heavily the kitchen cupboard. Q had poured some water, was pouring water; he was, in fact, attempting to clean some of the filthy work surfaces.

He had meant to do it. He was  _going_  to do it, if Q had just left him to do it without sticking his nose in. “I volunteered,” Q told him, not looking at the agent on the floor. “We are worried for you, James.”

"I’m fine," Bond assured him, trying to stand and failing horrifically. Q had stopped moving, shirt sleeves rolled up. "And I’m flattered, but Q I’m not interested in having you here."

Q froze for a moment, before continuing with the washing up.

"Whether you are interested or not, Bond, someone has to keep you alive, and that role has fallen to me," he replied curtly, placing a plate in the drying rack.

"I don’t need it," Bond tried to tell him, head rolling a little. "I don’t  _need you_ , just take the damn hint! I’m not gay, I’m not bloody attracted to you, and  _fuck_ , I don’t need you in here.”

The tap turned off.

Sharp shoes clicked past him.

The door slammed.

Bond sank down against the side, head in his hands.


	429. Chapter 429

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something that reminds me of my mother: Q has twitchy fingers, even when he’s not at the computer he’s constantly moving them like he’s typing. He does it unconsciously and it drives Bond nuts at first until he starts using it as litmus test for Q’s moods. - runemarks

It was only after a particularly unpleasant episode of tinnitus that Bond had noticed the tapping.

He had thought, at first, that it was a simple side effect, one that came and went – until he noticed the movements. Little taps, light as a pianist across the table. Elegant fingers, pounding up and down in quick, rhythmic succession.

It took approximately four minutes for Bond to reach the end of his patience. “Q, you have to stop the tapping,” he said, a little too sharply. “Seriously. Stop. No tapping.”

Q looked mildly confused. “I was tapping?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Of course you were bloody tapping.”

"Sorry," Q apologised, completely nonplussed.

After ten minutes of blissful silence, it began again.

"Q," Bond said slowly, as the Quartermaster worked.

"Hmmm?"

"Tapping Q."

Q looked down to his own fingers in mild irritation. “Shit. Sorry. Look I can’t control it, I really can’t.”

Bond didn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed it before. It was ridiculous; now his attention had been drawn, it never went away. He tapped  _in his sleep_ , for the love of god. It never stopped. A perpetual twitching, fidgeting, tapping.

He was close to strapping the man’s fingers together, when something rather odd occurred to him.

The tapping was almost a constant, until it wasn’t. When Q was happy, job going well, post-coital, relaxed, the tapping would cease. Hardly unexpected, but not manageable long-term - not even the great James Bond could keep his lover in a perpetual state of orgasmic bliss.

Bond, therefore, started to pamper Q to truly absurd extremes. Baths, tea on tap, all manner of things.

Slowly, surely, the tapping seemed to diminish. “Thank god,” Bond breathed, as he held Q on his lap, and felt Q’s hand on his leg, and it was  _still_. Blissfully, wonderfully still.

Until the next international crisis.


	430. Chapter 430

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! I mean…just look at your stories, they left me speachless…I have a little prompt for you. Q´s cat is sick, she hasn´t eat in days and things like that. James convinces Q to take her to the veterinarian…what a surprise, the cat is not sick, she is pregnant!!! Have fun and thank you! :D – anon

****

Q and Bond sat in the waiting room. Q’s foot was insistently rotating with quiet worry, his usual way of betraying upset; their cat was somewhere behind closed doors, being looked after supposedly.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s properly ill,” Q admitted quietly, fingers drumming, looking briefly to Bond and back away again.

Bond was – quite honestly – bored. R hated him, had always hated him, and Bond was not overly fond of the feline himself. He was only there to support Q, given that if the damn cat died, Q would be inconsolable for a very long time indeed.

“Mr’s Bond?”

Q was up like a shot, Bond trailing at his heels as they slipped into the consultation room. “Is she alright?” Q asked immediately, looking to R; she looked mildly annoyed but otherwise implacable. Almost bored, actually.

“She’ll be fine,” the vet said calmly, hand up to assuage the visible worry emanating from Q. “Actually, I have some news for you both.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, and Q looked like he was turning white. “What?” he managed.

“She’s pregnant,” the vet said proudly, looking at the curled form of R in her cage.

It was, quite possibly, the worst thing Bond could have conceivably imagine.

The demon-cat was  _reproducing_.

Q blinked, stunned.

And then, of course, he  _grinned_. Like a maniac. Like a psychotic maniac with a demon-cat who was going to spawn demon-kittens who would run around their flat and eat everything and piss on everything and oh god, oh good god, this was what hell was made of.

“That’s  _fantastic_ ,” he said delightedly, the vet nodding with his own joy. “You’ll need to give us advice on how to proceed with her, in terms of the next couple of months. We both have quite high-intensity jobs…”

The vet nodded sagely. “We can discuss options, of course, but…”

Bond just tuned out, and tried not to curse in every language he knew.


	431. Chapter 431

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Use this in a fill: “Shut up, [any char.],” [any char.] said, clenching his fists in his [where do you want it?], his head between his knees, “It’s my job to be brave.” –L

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

Q didn’t reply, continued to type, eyes utterly blank. “Go away, Eve,” he replied simply, eyes scanning his screens, brow constricting slightly; he typed out a few keystrokes, mumbling expletives under his breath before pressing a button to link him through to R. “001 is going off-piste, can you deal with him?”

R replied in an affirmative, and Q continued to type. “Eve, you’re still here,” he said drily.

“Q, I’m worried about you,” Eve told him, with a note of a plea. “You’re… James wouldn’t have wanted this, you’re going to get yourself in a complete mess if you carry on like this. You don’t have to be brave, you know? Nobody would think any the less of you…”

Q let out a strangled noise, breaking away from his computer to contract inwards in a violent motion. “Shut  _up_ , Eve,” he said, clenching his fists in his hair, head between his knees. “It’s my  _job_  to be brave. Everybody else gets to fall apart, I have to stay here and in control and tell them where to run and hide and what to explode and when, I have to be on top of things, I have to talk agents off goddamn ledges when they’re hurt, I have to talk them through their final moments because I’m the only voice left in their ear. You don’t understand, Eve. I  _do_  have to be brave, because nobody else is.”

He let out a long, shuddering breath, and didn’t cry. Didn’t cry at all. “Fuck, I miss him,” he said quietly, another slow exhale.

Eve didn’t say a word. There was nothing to be said.

Q lifted himself up, breathing in sharply, blinking any shadows of pain away.

He turned back to the computer, and returned to his typing.

-

The door opened, and Q looked at his lover, standing in the doorway.

“Hello,” he said calmly, smiling a little. “Welcome back, James. How was your little sojourn in Cairo?”

Bond looked like hell, exhausted and injured and slightly singed in places. “Pleasant place, Cairo,” he parried drily, closing the door behind him. “How’re you doing, Q?”

“I thought you were dead, but otherwise…” Q told him lightly. “Fine. Just fine.”

Bond moved next to him, and without another word, folded his lover in his arms and just held onto him, didn’t let him move, a steady presence. “I’ve got you,” Bond murmured, as Q lost all control of himself, and ended up sliding off the chair, crumpling into Q’s arms. “It’s alright, Q. I promise, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Bond murmured to him, held him, felt as Q started to sob with the hysteria of a lost child, fingers gripping into Bond’s shirt, holding onto him with a white-knuckled grip.

Finally,  _finally_ , somebody was being brave for him.


	432. Chapter 432

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how about bond comes down to the q branch and starts flirting with a girl (as per usual) and then q tells bond that its his 20 year old sister and then q’s sister asks if this is the bond that q is always talking about and q gets all embarrassed, please! :D – anon

Q watched with nothing short of suppressed laughter, shaking his head at the simple stupidity of the whole situation.

Bond was a lothario, certainly, but usually he was at least  _aware_.

This time, oblivion had descended, and he was attempting to flirt – badly – with Q’s very beautiful and very intelligent and very gay sister. There were a series of things wrong with the image, but god knew it was funny to watch.

Q intervened when Jamie leaned in, clearly about to very mockingly almost-kiss him before announcing that she was engaged to her girlfriend – not the first time she’d done so – and Bond would be roundly humiliated. Unsurprisingly.

“Jamie,” Q said sharply. “Stop it. Try and be a little more responsible, yes? Alex would be livid if she knew.”

Bond looked between the two of them, eyes narrowing. “Am I missing something here?”

Jamie, and Q, in unison: “Yes.”

“She’s my sister, who is engaged to her girlfriend of three years,” Q explained primly, shaking her head slightly. “Jamie, this is James Bond, as I’m sure you’ve established. James, Jamie.”

Jamie grinned a little. “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” she said apologetically to Bond, who just shrugged a little. “Anyway. James. Is this… is this the James you keep talking about? The hot irresponsible one?”

Q gaped, eyes wide. “I… Jamie, that’s enough. Definitely enough.”

“It  _is_  that James!” she said delightedly. “Oh, fantastic. He really  _is_  hot, I don’t blame you in the slightest. If I swung that way, I probably wouldn’t have turned him down, even with everything you’ve said.”

Bond smirked. “Superb. Q, you…?”

“You’re dead,” Q hissed to his sibling. “I mean it. You are utterly and completely dead, and I’m going to tell mummy, so fucking help me, you absolute  _shit_.”

“Oh, come on,” she laughed. “You were too chicken. James, do you like him?”

Bond grinned. “God yes, obviously.”

“He likes you. A lot,” Jamie told him, while Q looked like he wanted the ground to open in dramatic style. “So. James, pick Q up at eight, take him to dinner. Kiss him when you drop him off, he’ll go all gooey. Romance him, it’s the best approach. Q, grow a spine.”

Q stalked away to his office, and slammed the door.

“That went well,” Bond mused. “I  _like_  you, Jamie. Thank you, for that.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well. Don’t flirt with anybody passing by, he’ll rip your balls off,” she advised, and – with a wave – disappeared out the door.


	433. Chapter 433

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello to you both! You two are absolutely lovely. I have a prompt for you, but only if it interests you. Someone at MI6 going after Bond and being very extreme in their flirting. I would really love to see a very possessive Q who becomes vicious when anything tries to take away his Bond. – anon

The girl bent forward, pouting obscenely, arse in the air and eyelashes batting.

Q was inches, mere  _inches_ , away from mass homicide.

Instead, he started to type, mouth in a thin line as he began to cause quiet, unpleasant degrees of sheer tension and chaos.

Bond tapped on his office door, and slipped inside. “Ah,” he said, upon seeing his lover. “So. You saw Charlotte and her inimitable flirting style attack, I assume?”

Q looked up, eyes narrowing. “I am going to destroy her life,” he said simply. “And you will  _not_  stop me, James.”

For a moment, Bond was silent.

Abruptly, he cackled with laughter. “You’re kidding?” he managed, looking over Q, finding it absolutely hilarious. His expression, eventually, started to sober. “My god. You’re not kidding.”

“No,” Q agreed, expression still merciless. “I am not.”

Bond shook his head, walked around to Q’s desk, and  _literally_  plucked the man away from his computer, spinning him around. “We’ve talked about this,” he said wearily. “I know people annoy you, when they flirt – but you  _cannot_  technologically destroy them on a whim. Just no.”

“They all  _know_  you’re with me,” Q snapped, eyes wide and utterly manic. “They _know_ , and they try it  _anyway…_ ”

Bond smiled slightly. “This possessive streak is one of the most flattering things I’ve ever known, but really – leave them alone. They’re idiots, but you’re better than them.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m not,” he said, almost confused by that sentiment. “I wouldn’t regret it. I wouldn’t even think twice about it, quite frankly. I don’t like it.”

“I never would have guessed,” Bond laughed. “Q. Don’t ruin their lives. Expend the energy in really creative sex, if you like. I wouldn’t argue.”

Incrementally, Q relaxed, expression moving into quiet smugness. “That,” he said, in a low purr, “I could probably manage.”


	434. Chapter 434

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! You guys are such amazing writers!!! <3 I have a story idea: Q gets “kidnapped” and Bond is sent on a wild goose-chase to find him and it ends at a place where Q has set-up a surprise party!! Lots of fluff please!! – shertealocked

“They’ve got him.”

Bond needed little else to mobilise. MI6 had been tracking a specific group of drug smugglers for a while, only to have their informant outed under a week ago. MI6 had been expecting something like this: a power play, of some sort.

Of course, sod’s law dictated they had to go after  _Q_ , after Bond’s partner of two and a half years. A high profile target, but even with the best security detail in the world, no one was ever truly safe.

Bond was on the move, coordinates streamed to his phone. R was on the line. “Have they released any footage?” Bond asked, tires squealing in protest as he rounded a corner.

 “Nothing yet, waiting on ransom, take the next left,” R told him, voice disturbingly calm; she was never that calm in a crisis.

 Bond felt a flicker of suspicion. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

“Nothing! Just worried,” R told him, “Right.”

Bond followed the instructions, only to be met with an empty warehouse. “R, there is nothing here!” Bond exclaimed lividly, staring around at the space. No blood, no signs of a struggle. A positive sign, at least.

 “We’ve got something!” R told him, as Bond returned to his car.

Bond growled with gritted teeth. “It had better be bloody good news.”

“They want to meet you for discussions,” R told him, frantically typing in the background. “You have two hours, make yourself presentable – it’s a swanky place. I’ll send you through the coordinates.”

 Two hours later, Bond was dressed in his finest Armani, hair styled perfectly and mood mutinous. It was tempting to simply shoot the bastards in the face, though naturally it would achieve nothing. Someone had sent a driver; Bond stepped in, hands tensing on his knees as they set off.

 The hotel was indeed ‘swanky’. A high end place, more suited to an expensive wedding reception than a seedy kidnapping negotiations. Bond inhaled, feeling the reassuring weight of his gun in his breast pocket.

“Third floor,” R told him, as Bond stepped into the lift.

He stood, alone, jaw clenching as his heart sped up with anticipation.

 “ _Surprise!_ ”

 It was a miracle no one got shot.

Bond drew his gun the instant he emerged from the lift, into a large, well lit room absolutely rammed with people. People he  _knew_. His partner stood in the centre, looking an intriguing mix of delighted and terrified.

 “What,” Bond asked in a low growl, looking around at the gathered people. “the  _hell_  is going on?” 

“Happy birthday?” Q tried, looking more terrified than delighted as time went by.

Bond became dimly aware that he was still holding his gun, and looked like a hurricane incarnate. He stored it back in his jacket, gathered Q into a bear hug, and held him so tightly he almost cracked ribs.

“You’re alright? Not hurt?” Bond confirmed as he finally let go to a host of ‘awws’ from his colleagues.

Q started talking very quickly indeed, visibly horrified at the reaction. “I’m fine, James, please, look I am sorry we had to trick you, but there was no way you would have…”

“I am very tempted to kill you Quartermaster,” he said, looking around at the nervous collective. “Was this your idea?”

Q shook his head, and Eve – very tentatively – raised a hand. “We knew you wouldn’t come to a birthday,” she explained.

Bond was visibly dangerous. “So you pretend to  _kidnap my partner_ , drive me half way across London and raise my blood pressure to something far from healthy?!” 

“I’m safe,” Q breathed, touching his arm lightly. “I’m sorry James, but we just wanted to do something special for you, I know you hate your birthday and I wanted to show you how many people here do give a shit.”

 “About me aging?” Bond smirked slightly, the atmosphere relaxing a touch. There was a moment of absolute stillness, tension. “You little shit,” he conceded finally, and let Q kiss him.  “Out of interest: was R in on this?” he asked, pulling away.

Q nodded, smiling slightly. “She’s downstairs, will be up in a minute, once we have ascertained that you’re not going to commit mass murder.”

Bond kissed his forehead, breathing in Q’s familiar smell. “Not today. You bloody idiot. You look lovely, by the way,” he commented, finally looking at his lover, bedecked in what appeared to be a well-tailored suit. “I didn’t know you had that.”

“I bought it specially,” Q told him. “Come on, there is a cake that weighs more than me and various amusing slide shows.”

“Should I be afraid?” Bond asked chuckling as Q led him away.

“Oh definitely,” Q replied slyly.

Bond paused, lacing their hands together. “Thank you, Q, for this,” he murmured.

Q turned to him, kissing him slowly.

“You are most welcome.”


	435. Chapter 435

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 00q prompt: I’ve mostly seen fics with Q thinking James is dead and then James coming back. How about if James thought Q had died and grieves? (with of course Q being just clever and faking his death and if possible, a fluffy ending) – anon

Bond hadn’t realised how many pictures there had been of the pair of them. Both were such private people, but for some inexplicable reason, everywhere he looked there seemed to be more of them. At a friend’s wedding, an MI6 Christmas do, Q’s birthday… the list went on. There had been the holidays, the anniversaries, even the background pictures, where Q’s presence was abruptly very obvious.

The notes, too. They still littered the flat.

_Need bread, please pick up ASAP. PS Cat food too, else R shall be angered._

_No time to pick up dry cleaning, please go get. Love you!_

_Don’t touch the Tupperware in the fridge. Just don’t._

_Missed you lots, be safe._

Bond sat, holding them in his hands, reading each one. They had been nothing, at the time; just reminders, nice things to come home to. Now they were all he had left. Eve had been round to clear all alcoholic beverages and make him meals for the week. It hadn’t stopped him; booze was cheap, and thinking hurt too much at the moment.

They had managed four years. It hadn’t been perfect. Too much work, too much danger, for both parties. But they had come to an understanding, a way that worked. They had bought a flat, a cat, even had a wall calendar (unused for the past year and a half). When they were both in the country they would spend as much time together as possible, with Bond occasionally lurking around Q-branch, pretending to do paperwork.

 He reached out for the bottle of whiskey.

“I really had hoped you wouldn’t.”

 Hearing voice now. Probably time to stop.

“I know you’re upset. I am so sorry James.”

It wouldn’t be the first time; Bond would hear the man almost daily, now. The voice in his ear, commanding, flirting, fearful.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

A hand on his shoulder.

Bond looked up, mouth hanging open.  “Q?” he croaked, as he felt impossible arms embracing his shoulders, lips kissing his head firmly.

“So hard to believe?” Q asked lightly, as he felt Bond pull him in tightly, falling back onto the floor with Q on his chest.

“Never do that again,” Bond managed, sobbing into Q’s shoulder. “I thought I…”

Q kissed him once again, silencing the fears.


	436. Chapter 436

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you probably have waaaaay too many requests, but your recent fill (MI6 finding out Q isn’t quite so innocent) spurred me to ask you for a fill in which someone catches sight of a collar hidden under Bonds shirt, and gossip ensues, everyone noticing little instances between Q and 007. <3 – anon

It was only thin strip of dark leather, Bond contemplated, as he received yet another embarrassed glance at his neck. His shirts covered it, it was never unprofessional, and yet  _somehow_  everybody seemed to know about the collar.

It didn’t even matter, really. Certainly not to them. It was something Bond treasured, a little indication of a life behind closed doors; it was certainly no worse than the love bite that had lingered along Q’s jawline for a fortnight, for example, or the stinging bruises across Bond’s arse at his medical checkup.

It was the surprise, the role reversal. Looking at the pair, one would assume that Bond was far from the type to bend over, to be fucked by the slim Quartermaster.

Eve caught them once, Q’s hand a little too tight in Bond’s short hair as he held him. Only ever little things, of course; Bond’s occasional deference, the slight markings, the small cuts around his wrists and occasional bruising. The collar was really just confirming what everybody had suspected for a long while now.

It was breathtaking at points, Q’s casual dominance that held Bond by the heart strings as he did little more than narrow his eyes in a certain way.

"Isn’t it a little unprofessional?" Ryan asked, as R typed away.

R glanced up at Bond, to Ryan. “I don’t see why,” she said lightly. “If we hadn’t already suspected, it could have just seemed like some misguided form of necklace. You really can’t judge, given that your girlfriend was a vampire in a past life.”

Ryan flushed to his toes, and returned attention to his screen.


	437. Chapter 437

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering if you two could write about bond getting all paranoid and making Q take self defense lessons and Q pretends to be bad at it to humor James until someone tries to attack them and Q reacts faster than Bond

_“Ahhh_ ,” Q mocked, falling to the floor dramatically as the instructor went for his waist.

Bond felt his fists clench furiously, as he watched as his partner be pinned in the mount position.

Q squirmed slightly, looking to Bond with a mild pout. “Trap and roll,” he muttered, as Q just rolled his eyes; he pinned the man’s leg under his own loosely, and raised his hips. He did manage to roll the man over, though so messily the instructor managed to grab him almost instantly.

They left after another quarter of an hour, Q giggling slightly under his breath.

"Was that really necessary?" Bond asked, quietly furious at Q’s behaviour, teeth gritting.

Q just snorted. “Oh, come on James,” he laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder as they left the gym. “It was only a little fun. You’re getting a bit paranoid about all of this, I have to say.”

“If something happens…”

“Then I’ll be fine,” Q said, tone placatory, hand on Bond’s arm gently. “I’ll have you with me, most likely. Just calm down, please?”

Bond shook his head slightly, and entwined his fingers with Q’s.

-

They were just walking home together from work when it happened.

An abrupt surge of motion; Bond glanced around, and realised that Q was already moving, bag cast at his feet, slamming out various limbs with breathtaking speed. Bond was busy in an instant, but could see – out of the corner of his eye – Q pinned against the floor with a man over him, reaching for a gun with one hand.

Bond swore under his breath, history replaying.

Except Q had relaxed his body for an instant, and Bond recognised a feint. In a rush of movement, the man’s leg was pinned, Q’s hips abruptly lifted, and the man was rolled to one side, Q taking the moment of freedom to draw out his gun. “Drop yours or I shoot you,” he growled, as Bond knocked out the other assailant in a series of easy movements.

The man didn’t drop it. Q shot him.

“Well,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “That’s annoying. I’ll call MI6 for a clearup, the live ones need interrogating.”

Bond blinked. “Have you ever killed anyone before?”

Q looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. “Yes. And as I’m sure you’ve established, self-defence is not anything new either. Are you alright?”

Bond just nodded. “I’ll call in,” he murmured, and continued to watch Q with sheer disbelief.


	438. Chapter 438

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for you: on a mission Bond saves a minor agents life. Once back in England the agent, who is smitten with Bond and thinks he might be interested too, starts following Bond around. One day the agent checks Q branch for Bond and, while hiding (to avoid notice), sees Bond and Q walking arm in arm all dressed up. When asked if she’s seen Bond, R informs agent that he’s out on his anniversary. From agents POV view please, gender is up to you. <3 – theoneandonlywhitetiger

Eleanor was absolutely, and completely, besotted.

James Bond, the most incredible and utterly gorgeous agent in the entire world, had risked his life to save hers. Blond and rugged, with bright blue eyes; Eleanor had looked up at him, seeing him shoot out those who had been shooting at her, saving her life in a handful of movements.

Then of course, he just turned, and winked at her.

From that point on, Eleanor was completely lost.

Back in the UK, and she was absolutely convinced that it would be a Good Idea to ask Bond out. Carpe diem, as they say.

Everybody knew that Bond spent a surprisingly large amount of time in Q-branch. Eleanor had no idea why, but was more than willing to track him down anyway.

R saw her, and started giggling. “What?” Eleanor hissed at her, skulking behind a desk.

“You’re here for Bond, aren’t you?” R teased, typing leisurely, smirking; the pair had been quite close for a long while, and R knew very well that Eleanor didn’t come down to Q-branch unless she was stalking somebody. “Really, El? He saved your life, and now you’re going after him?”

Eleanor shrugged, unapologetic. “This should be fun,” R grinned, and promptly ignored Eleanor’s hissed questions.

Bond appeared a few minutes later, from just outside the Quartermaster’s office; he lingered there a moment, talking to Q presumably.

Q emerged a moment later, and happily linked his arm in with Bond’s.

Eleanor’s mouth fell open, and she watched them walk out, arm in arm.

R waited until they were out the door, before all but collapsing with laughter. “What just happened?!”

Eleanor had to wait for R to actually stop laughing long enough to breathe, before she had her answer. “They’re dating,” she snorted. “It’s their  _anniversary_.”

“Please tell me you would have stopped me,” Eleanor asked, blood draining from her face. “Oh my god.”

R just snorted. “Obviously. Although having said that, would have  _loved_  to see the fallout…”

Eleanor just cuffed her around the back of the head, and got her payback by pressing the ‘escape’ key on R’s keyboard, and essentially undoing half an hour of work.

At least she stopped laughing.


	439. Chapter 439

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I think you two are wonderful, how you can write so much different stuff. I have a prompt: Q as a consulting detective that only contacts scotland yard through the internet/computers, Bond as the DI who has the most interaction with him. Bond decides to try and find out who Q actually is. Thank you in advance! – isthisrubble

_Second corridor, middle of the wall, you will find a hidden cache of cocaine in the cupboard. You’re welcome. Q._

Bond smiled slightly; Q was a lippy little shit, whoever he was, and absolutely never failed to make Bond laugh.

He’d never actually met the man, of course. Q worked remotely, at the other end of a series of computers; nobody really knew how he acquired his information, but he claimed technological brilliance and a very wide network of contacts. Either way, he almost always had some form of insight, and was absolutely superb.

Bond had the closest relationship with him. After initially contacting MI6, Bond had – for some inexplicable reason – been requested by Q to be his primary contact. Nobody argued, and Bond now contacted Q on a regular basis for assistance.

Honestly, Bond would give near enough anything to actually  _meet_  the man. Or woman, he supposed, but for some reason he was relatively certain his mysterious contact was masculine.

_I don’t suppose you’d be interested in meeting for drinks? – JB_

_That was a very poor attempt. Try again. – Q_

Bond snorted, and tried again.

_Q. I have no interest in showing your face to my superiors, or anybody, really. I would like to meet you, because you are extraordinary at what you do, and I’m quite honestly beginning to get quite attached to you. – JB_

_Meet me at your favourite bar at eight. – Q_

With that, he went offline. Bond just stared at the screen a moment in utter confusion, and tried to work out what his favourite bar was with a surprising degree of difficulty. It made everything take on a different note, when he was trying to meet his elusive ‘Q’.

Eventually, he settled on a decently upper-class place he supposed probably  _was_  his favourite, dressed himself up, and at eight was sat at the bar, assessing everybody in the vicinity.

“Good evening,” a light voice said to him.

Bond turned quickly; the man speaking was young, very young. Maybe mid-twenties. Dark hair, green eyes, immensely thin with chalky skin. Beautiful, quite frankly, in an ethereal way.

Bond smiled, extended a hand. “Q?”

A small dip of the head. “James Bond,” he returned, with a small smile, and slid into the next-door chair.


	440. Chapter 440

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about this: Q and James are in a relationship (more than just sleeping together), but when Q blurts out that he loves James, James freaks out/gets angry and leaves because he “doesn’t do love.” This, naturally, makes Q a bit pissed off. Bonus points for Alec and/or Eve staging an intervention. Please? – anon

Bond hadn’t stopped drinking in about four days, to the best of his knowledge. He had absolutely no idea where he was, given that he was definitely not sleeping at Q’s flat, and his own flat was usually recognisable, and he definitely had not been sleeping.

So, when he noticed that he was in an MI6 holding cell, it came as something of a surprise, to put it mildly.

“Fuck’s going on?” he mumbled, trying to sit up with an irritating amount of difficulty. “’Lo?”

Alec stood outside, arms crossed over his chest. “Want to tell me what you’re playing at?” he asked, voice neutral.

Bond flicked him the finger. He never usually swore, but alcohol – and more specifically, hangovers – played absolute havoc with his usual attempts for any class.

Alec didn’t move. “James?”

“He loves me,” Bond mumbled.

The realisation hit; Alec let out a low sigh, shaking his head slightly. “You’re  _that scared_  of commitment?” he asked, with a touch of pity, a touch of general contempt. “He’s a great guy, and for fuck’s sake, you love him too.”

Bond blinked. “Do  _not_ ,” he mumbled.

A raised eyebrow. “That’s just ridiculous,” Alec contradicted, quite easily. “I know you, Bond, and you’re completely head over heels, for god’s sake. Just admit it. You have to. He’s devastated, and absolutely livid by the way, about all this. So get a grip, will you?!”

Bond just grimaced slightly, and fell asleep.

-

Q looked up as the door opened, expression relatively mutinous. “What do you want?” he growled, looking over Bond. “You absolute bastard, James. Seriously.”

Bond sighed slightly. “Eve’s been here, hasn’t she?” he asked, looking around the surprising neatness of their flat.

“And compliments, well  _done_ ,” Q commented, with leagues of sarcasm. “Just go away, unless you have anything useful to say.”

“I’m sorry.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Good start.”

“I love you too.”

Q’s eyes widened a little. “Much better,” he said, with a slight smile, and turned back to the TV. “You sitting down, or what?” he asked.

Bond stood for a moment, and moved to Q’s side.


	441. Chapter 441

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) can I have a fic please where Q is lonely and hears the song Milkshake by Kelis and so he makes a milkshake and Bond turns up in his yard and Q is like “holy shit it worked” and it ends with an un-drunk milkshake and sexy times, please?? Thank you!! – shertealocked

Q turned on the blender, dancing along to the radio, licking the spoon that had – until a moment ago – contained ice cream, and smiled to himself in satisfaction. He hadn’t heard the song in  _years_ , and it had just really been irresistible to make himself a milkshake while listening to the song, which – in honour – he had then started playing on repeat on his laptop.

He wasn’t bored yet, and had reached the stage of singing along and doing some truly impressive dancing.

Sod’s law meant that, blender in hand, the doorbell rang.

Q rolled his eyes, and looked through the peephole of his flat door.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Q asked, wrenching the door open.

Bond blinked.

Q stared at him, holding  a blender of milkshake, laptop blaring out a relatively annoying tune on repeat.

 “You live here?”

Q gaped slightly. “Well… yes,” he said, obviously confused. “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here…?”

Bond shook his head, still looking like he’d been hit over the head with something solid. “I… erm,” he said slowly. “I heard the song, and a blender, and I thought… Beth from Finance lives down the corridor, we’re quite good friends, and I heard… you  _live here_?!”

“What?” Q repeated, utterly and completely confused, and a little unnerved, and the blender was leaking slightly onto his hand, which didn’t bode well for the actual condition of his relatively antique blender.

Bond blinked again, and pulled Q into a kiss.

Q, startled, dropped the blender.

Milkshake went absolutely everywhere. “What are you  _doing_?!” Q mumbled against Bond’s surprisingly forceful, and actually  _very_  good, kiss.

Bond ignored him, kicked the blender to just inside the door, and shut it behind him. Q didn’t want to object, and thus didn’t, extremely confused and hoping the milkshake wouldn’t stain, and it was soaking into his trousers and  _James Bond was kissing him_ which was still failing to sink in properly.

Q was pinned against the wall, kissing Bond with all the passion at his disposal, and decided that  _sod it_ , he could ask questions later.


	442. Chapter 442

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff please? Q comes home from primary school with a ring on his finger and tells his mom he got married and that he and James are husband and husband now. Bonus if his mom just takes it in stride. – runemarks

“Mummy.  _Mummy_.”

Elizabeth took a patient breath, and glanced down at her son. Q was the light of her life, but he was at the kind of age when he could be relatively annoying when pestering. “Yes, my darling?” she asked, glancing in the rearview mirror to look at Q.

Q grinned, and held his hand up, to show a gummy ring around his finger. “I’m married,” he said happily.

“To whom?” Elizabeth asked, smiling herself; Q seemed ridiculously excited, and she couldn’t really bring herself to burst his bubble.

Q seemed to grow about three inches. “James.”

It was a long way from surprising. Q was absolutely  _besotted_  with James, a boy a couple of years older than him, who had taken her son under his wing quite a while back. Monique – James’s mother – was a lovely woman, and Elizabeth had grown quite close to her as their sons became ever better friends.

“That’s fantastic, darling,” she told him, as Q squeaked delightedly. “We’ll have to get James and Monique around to celebrate, hmm? Maybe I can even find you celebratory cake.”

“ _Cake_ ,” Q repeated, with a wide-eyed wonder. “I get  _cake?!_ ”

Elizabeth laughed. “You had some at Matt and Sarah’s wedding, didn’t you?”

A small, stunned nod. “’mazing,” he murmured. “Can James have cake too? Cos he’s my husband now.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed, expression a little more serious, gaze consistently flicking up to her son in the back seat. “And I think we need to find you a better ring. That one will get munched soon.”

Q’s eyes widened. “I don’t  _want_  to munch my ring,” he said, sounding utterly devastated. “It’s my  _wedding ring_.”

“Well,” Elizabeth said practically, “I think we can find you,  _and_  James, nice rings that nothing will happen to. Then you can be married forever.”

“And always?”

It was impossible to not smile. “And always,” she agreed, and prepared to call Monique over for dinner, to celebrate the unofficial wedding of both of their sons.

After all, the only surprise was that it had taken the two boys so long.


	443. Chapter 443

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was wondering if you guys ever wrote a fic with beard!q and bond seeing it and getting all hot and bothered? if you haven’t i’d love to see you guys write one! – anon

The beard had only appeared because Q was absolutely and entirely  _bored_  of being treated like a six-year-old by those in power; he looked far too young, and a beard made him look at least  _vaguely_  like he might be approaching late twenties to thirties, rather than early twenties.

Bond took one look at him, and his jaw dropped.

He looked  _gorgeous_. Mature but still with the innocence he had always had, a perfect juxtaposition, and Bond had  _always_  loved beards on beautiful men. It was just an insanely lovely thing to witness.

“Q, can I see you in your office quickly?” Bond asked, throat dry.

Q looked at him, glanced him up and down. “I’m terrified,” he said with a slight smirk, and opened his office door.

Bond walked in, shut it behind him, and literally  _pounced_  on the man.

“Fuck,” Bond breathed, hands running over his throat, his face, the spike of the beard. “ _Fuck_ , you’re beautiful.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “It took a  _beard_ , obscuring my face, to make you see that?!”

Bond was a very long way from apologetic; he just essentially pinned Q against the wall, and kissed him.

It would go one of two ways; Q would be delighted, or Bond would have a broken nose.

Mercifully, Q went for the former.

Abruptly, they were kissing with a terrifying type of passion. Bond would have stubble rash for a month, but couldn’t bring himself to care very much; he kept pulling back just to  _look_  at Q, to document his face, imprint him in his memory. “You should have grown this  _weeks_  ago,” he hissed. “I go on a mission, and come back to find that my Quartermaster is abruptly  _gorgeous_.”

“Thank you,” Q laughed, kissing him back. “You’re pretty good-looking yourself, I must say.”

Bond just raised an eyebrow. “Glad to hear it,” he smirked, and just kissed his Quartermaster senseless.


	444. Chapter 444

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m currently on holiday and the airport is about 10 minutes from the beach. The planes fly very low right overhead, but extremely irregular timings. As in 2 in qp minutes then none for another 8 hours or so. How many sacrifices do I have to make about Q and Bond being that close to the airport and Q freaking out every tine a plane flies by. – anon

It was mostly a really nice little house. They had decided to upgrade, as they got older; Bond was no longer on active duty, and Q was increasingly working remotely on various blueprints, schematics, that allowed him to remain at home.

So, they upgraded from Q’s old flat, to find a relatively minute house; kitchen, living room, bathroom, a master bedroom and a spare, mostly for Q’s equipment as a study. It was nice to have a little more space, to spread out and just enjoy being there, together, and form a type of life.

The only downside was location. At the time, it hadn’t seemed like a major issue, and Q had sworn blind he would be alright.

Except that they were now living about twenty minutes away from Gatwick, and directly beneath a very popular flight path, which wasn’t – to put it mildly – the most pleasant of experiences for somebody absolutely terrified of planes.

If he hadn’t loved the house as much as he did, Q would have run away from the first _day_.

As it was, Bond was getting increasingly used to Q becoming a gibbering wreck the moment any planes came within spitting distance. Bond just held him until he calmed down, and hoped rather hard that immersion therapy would eventually work.

It didn’t, after a month.

Thus, Bond made an executive decision; it was getting silly, the way Q responded to every single bloody plane. It was tempting – very tempting, actually – to pull strings, and get the flight path altered. However, that was unlikely to be very popular.

Instead, Bond waited until Q was out for a few days in-branch, and soundproofed the entire building in a week. Q didn’t have the faintest idea that Bond was doing it, and apart from commenting that the windows looked very clean, he was merrily oblivious.

“There don’t seem to be many planes any more,” he noted, after a while.

Bond just shrugged. “Must have been an alteration in patterns or something,” he said innocently, smiling very faintly as Q smirked, and snuggled into his arms with a laptop on his knees.

“Yeah,” Q agreed blithely, and continued working.

Bond just pressed a kiss to Q’s head, and didn’t say a word.


	445. Chapter 445

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how bout a BAMF motherhen Q. he treats the double0’s like they are his chicks. looking after them on the field and especially off the field. at first they are baffled but come to love it (makes them have something to come home for), especially Bond. – anon

It had become an established  _fact_ , just an unequivocal little quirk; every single double-oh agent  _adored_  Q.

In fairness, Q adored them just as much. For a collection of orphans, Q became a parent they had never expected. Every single mission was preceded by Q clucking over them about remaining safe, every mission was categorised by Q’s quiet support, and at the end, every double-oh reported to Q-branch.

Q always welcomed them in, with a bright smile and assessing glances that spanned their entire bodies. “You’re alive,” he would say, with a mildly sarcastic tone. “Superb. Equipment?”

The agents would place some random collection of equipment or broken equipment or just raise their hands in a guilty little admission of equipment non-existence.

Bond was Q’s favourite. Everybody knew that. Q berated the agent infinitely more than any other, but his eyes were also dark with concern. The agents were a long way from resentful; Q was more than a friend, less than a lover, and somebody who cared enough to look after them.

They would go to their graves denying it, but it was desperately wonderful to have somebody looking after them.

It reached the stage where Q-branch was the first place that any agent would go, upon returning to the UK. Medical, M-branch, all the other places the agents  _should_  go as a priority, were ignored. Q welcomed them in, fed them tea or coffee and biscuits (or, in the case of 003, hot chocolate), and they would chat about the mission and/or nothing in particular, before being dispatched off to M or Medical.

Usually, the agents would be in Q’s office for about an hour. Bond was, on average, there for about two. He and Q would settle with endless quantities of tea, and discuss everything about the world they could conceivably think of for a while.

Of course, the other very endearing factor was that Q made specific equipment for different agents; Bond had his exploding pen, 006 had a machete – just because he wanted one – and 001 had a series of vials with different poisons. Everybody showed preferences, or aptitude, and were rewarded with equipment to fit.

In short: everybody loved Q.

Q just watched them on their missions, shaking his head slightly. He loved the agents dearly, but they could be such  _idiots_  from time to time. “Come home safe, 007,” he said lightly, and Bond just grinned, and agreed.


	446. Chapter 446

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah I’ve been reading your prompts Iove them I will give you a horse to add to your family and some possums could you do a piece 00q AU where Q is arrested and put in prison where other inmates pick on him, Bond is his cell mate and protects him.(based on Ben Whishaw in criminal justice) thank you Ben Whishaw is so small and helpless in that show!!!!! Your amazing! – anon

Q curled up in the corner of the bed, absolutely shattered, and extremely unwilling to venture out into the main arena of the prison. He didn’t want to be there, he had never done anything that would merit being there, and he weighed about the same as a teenage girl which meant he was going to be goddamn  _target practise_ , and he knew it.

Quite frankly, he had never been so terrified in his life.

“Hey.”

Mercifully, Q avoided a flinch. “Hello,” he said, with a decent degree of control, and didn’t attempt any further conversation. He figured that trying to disappear entirely would probably be the only viable tactic he had.

The man chucked himself onto his bed, Q watching him careful. “In for…?”

“Nothing,” Q mumbled. “I shouldn’t be in here.”

His companion raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you and everybody here,” he commented drily. “I’ll only find out from somebody else, so tell me now.”

Q watched him, eyes very slightly wide. “Act of terrorism,” he mumbled. “I didn’t. I do some work, with small explosive charges and weaponry, I was employed, but… well, there was an incident, and they think it was me. Which would be multiple homicide, if I’m convicted, which I won’t be because they can’t have any evidence, it’s nothing to do with me.”

The man nodded slightly. “Alright,” he agreed. “Excellent. I’m in for double-homicide. My other half was murdered, I didn’t respond overly well. Given my record, the fact that one can class it as a crime of passion, and exemplary behaviour, I should be out in about ten years now. You’ll be in for life.”

Q tried not to respond, jaw trembling very slightly. “I won’t get convicted,” he said, with as much conviction as he could.

“Possible,” the man returned. “In the meantime though, everybody here will eat you alive. You need to listen  _very_  carefully to everything I tell you.”

Q watched him, very still. “How do I know I can trust you?” he asked, tense.

His cellmate just smiled. “You don’t, but I would be intrigued to see your other options,” he returned. “Fall in with the wrong people, and you will find that I am your enemy – which believe me, would not be a good plan.”

Q swallowed slightly “Who are you?”

“Bond. James Bond,” he smiled, and extended a hand.

Q reached out, and shook it.


	447. Chapter 447

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just read the “reality issues” prompt fill and I liked the idea of it. I feel like it could be really good as a longer fic. So here’s an idea for a continuation: I struggle with some reality issues of my own. Sometimes it feels like there’s a pressure pressing in on all sides of my brain that causes my thoughts to jumble and repeat. When this happens I stare into space and my hands shake. I’d like to see Q dealing with this aspect. ^_^ - theoneandonlywhitetiger

Bond pushed open the door, and knew in an instant.

In an instant, he pushed the door closed again, locked in, moved to Q’s side.

This stage was immensely delicate, immensely dangerous. “Q, can you hear me?” Bond asked softly, carefully, staying a little far back from him.

Q couldn’t stop staring, focusing on the distant wall with his entire body vibrating, fists clenched so tightly the skin was taught and white, jaw trembling and eyes slightly damp, as though trying to break out of an invisible vice.

Bond knew this well. Q would stop being able to focus, everything would start spinning and losing all coherency, and Q – desperately clinging to control – would find one focal point, and just lose himself, trying to grasp onto butterfly thoughts that slid through his fingers in a heartbeat.

“Q, listen to my voice,” Bond told him calmly, voice very level, slow and clear. “Q, you’re in your office, with me. James. I need you to look at me, Q, can you do that?”

So many times. Bond was so used,  _too_  used, to needing to do this. It was getting very tiring, and his head ached, everything ached, but nowhere near as much as Q ached now. “I’m fine,” Q growled, with almost-desperation. “I’m  _fine_. James, please. I’m fine. I’m  _fine_. I have to be fine. I’m fine.”

A small swallow, throat closed.

“I know you’re fine,” Bond agreed. “But you are going to rupture something if you don’t start breathing. Q,  _look at me_.”

Q’s eyes snapped to him. “Get out,” he told Bond sharply. “Go. I don’t need help. I’m okay.”

Bond stayed, watched him for a moment.

After a moment, Q’s expression crumpled, and he let out a small sob. “It hurts,” he admitted, in a minute voice. “I keep trying, James.  _Every_ time, I try and stall it, make my thoughts stop but I _can’t_. It just keeps pressing, and there’s  _nothing left_.”

A small breath, and Q began to calm more, incrementally. “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded.

Bond shook his head, pulled Q into his arms, held on.

He just had to hold on.


	448. Chapter 448

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recently read about Ben Whishaw’s and Mark Bradshaw’s civil union and their picture in the article just made me feel so happy. They look so in love! Anyway, I wonder if you can write about Bond and Q getting hitched secretly but after sometime the secret is revealed (their marriage certificate may have been accidentally leaked or something) and Q just worrying about everybody’s reaction especially Bond’s? Thanks and keep up the good work. – anon

“James.”

“What’s wrong?” Bond asked immediately. There was an edge, a terrifying tone, that Bond picked up on; something had happened, something terrible, by the sound of things. “Q,  _what’s happened_?!”

A hitch of breath. “They know,” he managed. “Everybody, they found out about our marriage. I don’t know who, but somebody looked into our files and they  _know_ , James, and I’m so sorry…”

Bond took a breath, let it out slowly. It was definitely not ideal, but it was manageable. “Q, you need to calm down,” he said gently. “It’s alright. This doesn’t change anything. I still love you, you still love me, we’re still married. Most know we’re together, what’s more. So nothing has changed except that we’ve made it formal. Calm, Q. It’s okay.”

Q just hiccupped slightly. “You’re okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Bond said, with a slight laugh; Q was more worried than he was, mostly because he – incorrectly – believed that Bond would completely freak about the idea of it being mass knowledge. They hadn’t managed to come out of the closet, as a couple, for nearly nine months as it was.

Q nodded. “You coming in?” he asked, a little too quietly to be a simple question.

“Of course,” Bond murmured, and hung up.

-

When Bond reached Q-branch, there were a fair number of very intrigued Q-branch members watching him. Eve was by Q’s office, looking very concernedly at the locked door. “He won’t come out,” she murmured.

Bond tapped. “Q?” he asked gently.

The door unlocked with a loud click.

At which stage, the entirety of Q-branch – Eve included – broke into absolutely _thunderous_  applause. Whistles and calls and bloody  _sparklers_  from R, an entire collection of people just celebrating for them, delighted and beyond excited for them. “You should have told us!” R called; she was Q’s closest friend in MI6, and even she had been very much unaware.

Q reached an arm through the door, tried to drag Bond in without anybody seeing his face.

Instead, Bond tugged him out, and drew him close. “Hello,” he smiled. “It’s okay, Q. Look – nobody minds.”

The applause was just thunderous.

Bond held onto Q tightly, and watched his young lover smile.


	449. Chapter 449

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One where James is a morally ambiguous sea creature: selkie, sprite, ondine, etc. Who’s been slowly luring Q to the water’s edge to pull him in and never give him back – anon

The noise was crooning, tempting.

Q kept hearing it; whenever he came close to the edge of the river, he could hear the bubbling sound, like laughter, like music. Speech and eloquence, communication, a sense that this would be the only thing that he would ever truly understand; Q found himself straying ever closer, more frequently, bare feet bathing in the cool water.

The water trickled over his pale skin, and the noise intensified. “Hello?” Q asked, very quietly, feeling a little stupid.

“Hello.”

Q flinched, pulling his feet up and out of the water, heart beating frantically in his throat. “Fuck,” he mumbled abruptly to himself. Then, louder: “Hello?”

“I thought we did this part.”

Q gaped, shivers running down his spine. “What… where are you?!” he asked, looking around; the voice was there, it  _had_  to be there, but he couldn’t see anybody.

“Look down.”

There, in the water.

A face looked up at him, edged and gorgeous, skin a translucent blue and shimmering, mimicking water.  _Was_  water. Intangible, and yet quite undeniably  _there_.

Q’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he mumbled. “Oh my  _god_. You’re… what are you?!”

“I am James,” the being said softly. “I have other names, but your tongue will know me as James.”

A small, hesitant nod. “Okay,” Q managed, feeling a little bit like he’d been hit over the head with something solid. “Christ. You’re…”

“I am a sprite,” he told Q. “And you are Q. Beautiful Q.”

Q barely suppressed a smile. “Thank you,” he mumbled. Erm… a  _sprite?_ ”

James ignored him.

A hand extended from the depths, wet and cold, not quite tangible but  _there_. It brushed over Q’s feet again, crawling closer and up his shin, covering him, keeping him; Q slowly knelt, utterly  _entranced_ , and his fingers skated over James’s face.

James smiled, hand icy against the back of Q’s neck.

A heartbeat of realisation.

An echoing splash, and Q was gone.


	450. Chapter 450

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond’s a dragon kin and Q’s of firebird descent. They’re ideal mates but firebirds notoriously require lots of coaxing, wooing, and outright bribing to leave their open sun filled skies for a dragon’s hoard. – anon

Q was beautiful. Utterly beautiful, with embers in his eyes, sparks of white-hot fire when angry or passionate or happy; Bond could look at him, and see such  _heat_.

Bond, of course, had the fortune of being impervious to the negative facets of such heat. He was made to resist all extremes, and he  _did_. Q could not hurt him, and Bond could never catch Q given that the man could  _soar_ ; they were imbalanced, but Bond adored him, and was more than prepared to tempt the firebird boy out of his freedoms. Just for a little while. Just to give him a nest.

It was known that firebirds could not be tempted easily. They valued their independence, the world at their fingertips and feet, and the idea of a single place and single time was truly abhorrent. “I would leave you with everything you want,” Bond promised, with such ringing honesty. “I have so much to offer.”

Q just raised an eyebrow. “I have too much of the world to explore,” he said simply, and the subject was considered closed, by his standards.

Bond began to leave him gifts. Things a firebird would crave; onyx with a hint of bright flame, wires and copper and shiny reams of metals and delicate glass, some useful, some not, all beautiful and all intended to slowly, carefully, bring Q into the careful sphere of his hoard.

“At least let me show you,” Bond asked softly, his voice betraying the low, possessive growl of a dragon. “Protection, Q. We both need freedom, you know that.”

Q shook his head. “I can’t, Bond,” he told him insistently.

Yet, Bond could see the shadows of doubt, of curiosity. Of wondering whether it would be so harmful, to allow himself to be protected, cherished.

It only took a few more weeks. Bond was relentless, and Q was caving incrementally, and they fell together in tandem.

“Show me,” Q asked, with a touch of falsified annoyance.

Bond smiled,  took his hand, and showed him  _everything_.


	451. Chapter 451

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Bond basically cockblocks Q every time he tries to get close to other double OOs. Bond does like him but won’t act on his feelings so Q flirts with the OOs - maybe even Tanner or M- to try + provoke Bond/he thinks Bond is doing it because he thinks Q is innocent/not up to being with a OO. Angsty misunderstandings till someone like Eve or Alec sets them straight. – anon

Bond came in, to find that Q and 006 had been in Q’s office for over an hour, door closed, discussing some aspect of 006’s recent mission  _supposedly_ , and they hadn’t allowed anybody in at any stage.

It had to be said, Bond was at the point of committing a mass homicide of his fellow double-ohs.

Nobody was safe from Q’s interests, these days. The man flirted with absolutely _everyone_ , but with particular emphasis on the double-oh agents, and somehow  _every single time_  avoiding Bond. It didn’t make any sense. Bond spent his entire life interfering in various flirtations, to the extent that he began to resent any time on international missions simply because he couldn’t guaranteed that Q wasn’t going to flirt with the entire world in that time.

Thus, he waited, interfered, and told Eve to do the same.

Eve found the entire situation hilarious and exasperating in equal measure. “Why don’t you just  _talk_?!” she asked at one stage, while Bond gritted his teeth at 003’s behaviour and tried not to rip off heads. “Talk to Q. You clearly like him…”

“Do  _not_ ,” Bond growled back, and simply refused to discuss the matter further.

The thing was: Q was just as stubborn as Bond. He had no idea why the man was being quite so horrendous to him, and to everybody he tried to conduct even a passing conversation with, but he  _was_.

Q was intent on making Bond understand that he was  _not_  a fading flower. He could hold his own with pretty much anybody, and was extremely bored of being treated like he was going to fall apart at the slightest touch.

Alec was more than happy to oblige Q, in flirting, and making Bond jealous. Mainly because Bond needed to be shown that Q had a spine, and was more than capable of dating Bond without either of them ending up in pieces.

Bond hit Q’s office door with a closed fist. Eve stood behind, giggling.

“What?!” Q asked irately, wrenching the door open. “What do you  _want?_ ”

Alec just leant against the desk, with a smirk that essentially tipped Bond over the edge. “ _Out_ ,” he snapped at his old friend; Alec just raised his hands in a quiet surrender, noting that Bond’s possessiveness had gone completely beyond usual parameters. For the sake of his testicles, Alec retreated quickly.

The door closed, and Bond turned on Q.

No words, for a moment.

“Oh, just  _kiss me_ , would you?!” Q told him irritably.

Bond slammed him against the wall, and obliged.


	452. Chapter 452

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> absolutely looooove your writing. Q has a cat that is very possessive of him and his time. enter Bond who is also possessive of Q. then the two meet and it’s downhill from there in a funny way. meanwhile Q remains oblivious and claims that his (evil mastermind) of a cat is the sweetest thing ever, how dare James suggest otherwise. poor James. – anon

Bond took one look at R – Q’s cat, not his subordinate in Q-branch – and realised that this was going to end very badly indeed.

He and the cat had a tense, painful standoff in the living room, while Q went to make tea. “I don’t mean you any harm,” Bond said carefully, a little stiffly, aware that he absolutely loathed cats and – in general – they hated him with a ferocious, burning passion.

The cat, Bond could swear,  _smirked at him_.

Q arrived in a minute or two, and happily settled on the sofa with a cup of tea for himself, and coffee for Bond. Bond sat down next to him, curling Q into his arms; Q glanced up at him with a small smile, and R knocked his mug over. On purpose.

“For god’s  _sake_ ,” Q muttered, moving away from Bond to grab kitchen towel. “Be careful, James, I like this carpet.”

Bond blinked. “That was the cat,” he said, a little shocked. “The  _cat_.”

Q looked at him, rolled his eyes. “Of course it was,” he returned drily. “My cat knocked over a  _full mug_  of coffee. James, she’s practically the same size at it.”

Bond gaped slightly, but let it go. “Okay,” he said, with a slow exhale. “Alright. I’ll make another coffee.”

Naturally, by the time he returned, Q was sat with R  _literally_  sprawled over his entire lap. Bond no longer had anywhere to sit. “Move the cat,” he said teasingly.

Q looked utterly scandalised, and R let out a small, plaintive mew. “Poor thing,” Q said sadly, stroking his cat, who nuzzled into his hand. “I know, James is very mean, isn’t he?”

“That cat hates me.”

“It’s a  _cat_ ,” Q pointed out; Bond looked skywards, and installed himself back on the sofa.

He may or may not have pinched the cat slightly.

She hissed, and leapt off Q’s lap; Q looked mildly startled, but willingly allowed Bond to take him back, arms circling him.

One all.


	453. Chapter 453

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You two are bloody brilliant and I just can’t help myself, I need a young and pretty waiter!Q (maybe in france? because, really, pretty) who doesn’t really work for MI6 but slips notes in something by bond and dragged into a mess, eventually. Am I too demanding? Sorryyyyyy. Iloveyoubye <3 – anon

Bond sat at the table, nursing an exceptionally strong coffee and absentmindedly waiting for his contact to meet him; it was a very subtle exchange, supposedly to be negotiated through himself and some form of contact whom MI6 had coerced into doing them favours.

The boy was pale and young and very beautiful indeed. He served tables with a gentle, calm ease, gliding through the cobbles steps and smiling in a way that certainly caught Bond’s attention. He had always been one for beautiful things, and this young waiter was certainly something he liked.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Monsieur?”

Bond looked up; he had been conversing with around in fluent French, not English. The boy raised an eyebrow, inclined his head slightly, and simply picked up the plate Bond had been eating a croissant off barely five minutes previously.

He disappeared again in an instant, and Bond noticed a slip of paper beneath his coffee cup that had not been there before.

When he looked up, the boy had vanished.

The paper had an address, a time.

Bond pocketed it, and continued to calmly drink his coffee without undue concern, trying to catch another glimpse of the young, pretty waiter.

He re-emerged after a little while, distributing more drinks. He didn’t pay too much attention to Bond, but didn’t ignore the glances Bond shot at him; he blushed a little, evidently unused to anybody paying him quite so much mind.

Bond beckoned him over at one stage. “Another coffee, if you would,” he said, English again; the boy smiled, nodded elegantly. “I would be delighted if you could join me.”  
The boy’s eyes widened. “I…”

“When does your shift end.”

The boy blinked. “I have a break in fifteen minutes or so, Mr…?”

“Bond. James Bond.”  
He smiled, slightly encouraging; the boy returned the smile a little shyly, and nodded. “Q,” he replied simply, evidently a cover for something, and Bond didn’t try to press it; if he was one of MI6’s little contacts, he needed his protection.

Bond smiled, sat back, and waited.


	454. Chapter 454

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt (inspired by a crazy week at work): James and Q are both on the field for a relatively normal mission that just required Q’s physical presence on the site. Now comes the peculiar part: they are starting to have a series of accidents/bad luck. At first they think nothing of it, but after days of accidental falls/fires/earthquaqes etc they freak out to the point of considering resolving to lucky charms/ holly water/ exorcisms..Would love it if it was Q who lost it first! Crack obviously! – mpoumpouki

“This is  _it_ ,” Q screeched, storming out of their room, literally unsure of what to do: he needed to get to the ground floor, but given recent luck, he would either end up plummeting down an elevator shaft or just tripping down the stairs, and it was officially  _it_  on Q’s sanity.

The first hotel had caught fire. Then there had been unseasonal rain, and some flooding, which had prevented travel to any of their intended destinations for monitoring or anything bloody useful. Then there was a goddamn  _earthquake_ , and Q’s computer imploded, and Bond fell over his own feet and sliced open his left arm, and then Q had lost his glasses, and Bond broke his gun without it being strictly his own fault and now,  _now_ , the final shoe had fallen and Q had entirely lost the plot.

The WiFi was down.

Bond had to follow Q, of course, and try to get him back to their room before their cover was blown; he pulled Q back, and a seam split along the side of his favourite jacket, and a button somehow got caught on Q’s cardigan and it pulled oddly and Q’s tie very nearly started throttling him, so Bond dumped him in the room and locked the door.

“Well, we’re clearly never getting out again,” Q commented drily. “Excellent. Well thought-out, Bond. We’re trapped in a room for the rest of eternity. Just stellar.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “We are  _not_  trapped for all eternity, stop being melodramatic.”

The door beeped, just to be obnoxious. “Told you so,” Q muttered, and dramatically fell backwards, expecting to prop up on the nice, comfy edge of the bed – and instead managed to crack his head on the corner.

“Q,” Bond said calmly, steadily. “You have to calm down. Seriously. We are not jinxed. We are not fated. There is no such thing as either of the above.”

“ _You’re going to make it worse_.”

Bond took a breath, looking at the ceiling as though praying for strength. “Q. For the last time…”

“I literally don’t know what to do,” he mumbled helplessly. “I want to go back to the UK, but I’m worried there’ll be a plane crash or something…”

Bond knelt in front of him, holding Q’s gaze steadily. “Q,” he said firmly. “Stop. Enough, now. Repeat after me: You are not cursed.  _We_  are not cursed. I am not cursed.

Q mumbled the sentences back, looking vaguely resentful.

When they were done, Bond leaned forward, and kissed him. “For good luck,” he said, with a gentle smile, and left before Q could say anything further.


	455. Chapter 455

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for keeping your followers so entertained! You’re both amazing. Here’s my prompt: Bond, a renowned monster hunter, has been hired by Silva to kill Q, a lich who is reputedly terrorizing a remote village. But when Bond arrives in the village, the villagers don’t seem particularly terrorized, and Q neither looks nor behaves like any lich that Bond has ever encountered before. – seekingidlewild

Bond rolled his shoulders slightly, prepared to move into action, jaw set in a thin line; lichs were ever desperately tricky to destroy, and Bond needed a little time to establish the manner and form of this particular one before cementing his form of attack.

The village was supposedly the sobbing, mildly hysterical type. Bond’s employer had pointed him towards a small internet café – the only one for several dozen miles in the vicinity – and told him the most frequent sightings were in that area.

The lich was known as Q, and if Bond was correct, there was a small area just north of the village that was most likely to house said lich.

Equipment in hand, Bond went to explore the rumoured lich.

In its stead, he found a teenage boy with a laptop, who seemed remarkably confused. “Sorry, can I help you?” he asked, upon seeing Bond, in an otherwise unoccupied area of the woods.  
“What brings you all the way out here?” Bond asked slowly, fingers carefully wrapped around the base of his gun. Lichs could be very intelligent, very manipulative creatures.

That being said, they were usually also recognisable – and Q was not easily classed as a lich. Silva had warned him of that, but this was pushing the bounds of credibility. “Honestly?” Q said, with a faint smile, “it’s quieter. I do a lot of work with technology, and this bit is out of the way of other people so I don’t disturb them.”

Bond blinked. This did not feel right.

Q just watched him straight back.

Slowly, Bond reached into his jacket, and brought out a small hand-held sensor. Q just continued to watch, apparently mildly amused, as Bond scanned him: heartbeat. Body heat.  _Life signs_.

The boy was definitely, completely human.

“Do you know a Raoul Silva?” Bond asked flatly.

Q’s expression hardened with sheer, transparent rage. “Yes,” he returned, like a gunshot. “Do I want to know why?”

“He hired me to kill you.”

Q  _growled_. “How fucking novel,” he returned, and shook his head slightly. “Superb. Are you planning to do so?”

“No,” Bond told him honestly. “I have no interest. He said you were a lich.”

Q looked at him. Blinked.

Burst into laughter.


	456. Chapter 456

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those last 2 fics were gorgeous - hope you write more for them. I’d like to see a fic where Q is insecure underneath it all as he was so badly bullied at school so at 1st is wary of Bond but Bond is so patient + protective he eventually gets thro to him + they end up together. – anon

Q was an excellent branch leader, nobody could begin to dispute that. He was intelligent and brilliant and frankly inspirational, and universally loved as a result; nobody quite knew what to do with him, but he wore his intelligence like a badge of honour, and didn’t allow anything to interrupt.

However, he was not precisely socially adept, to put it mildly. Q seemed to find social interactions something of a foreign animal, and not a welcome one; he spent a decent proportion of his time avoiding other human beings at all possible costs. Just in case.

Thus, when Bond began to demonstrate an interest towards his Quartermaster, it caused – unsurprisingly – chaos. Q immediately seemed immensely unhappy, and made active attempts to avoid Bond.

Bond pinned him down eventually, of course. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice heavy with nothing more sinister than simple concern; Q was too confident to then get away with outright reticence. This was wrong. Something was wrong.

Q looked at him uncomfortably. “Why are you around Q-branch so much?” he asked frankly, flatly.

“I want to spend time with you,” Bond returned, keeping his tone entirely impassive, no judgement or even question. “If you don’t want me to, I can stop. However – I like you, Q. To be honest, I like you as more than a friend, which I think we can safely say I am now. I would like – if you’re willing – to spend a lot  _more_  time with you.”

Memories crashed, briefly. An unspoken but very pressing worry: this could be false. This could be as untrue as every other word once spoken by those he was supposed to be able to trust. It  _could be_.

Q desperately, fervently hoped it wasn’t.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I… Bond, I have the power to make your life extremely unpleasant.”

“I’m glad you like me too,” Bond returned, with a wry smile and a note of laughter. “Calm, Q. I have no interest in hurting you, as I’m guessing you think I will. Honestly. Just friends. Maybe something more. I’d like to take you out for dinner, actually, if you’re at all willing.”

Q’s eyes widened, almost comically. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Bond returned, with a small smile. “I’ll pick you up at eight?”

For a moment, Q couldn’t quite believe what was going on. “I… okay,” he managed, blinking owlishly. “Eight.”


	457. Chapter 457

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s a bit of a cliché but honestly I would give you the moon on a stick if you could write Bond discovers that Q self-harms - angsty but with a happy (or at least the possibility of happy) ending – anon

In his credit, he was very, very good at hiding the signs.

It took Bond a worryingly long time to put the pieces together, to realise that nobody – even somebody of Q’s worrying talent in causing accidental injury to himself – could have so many small burns, cuts, bruises. It simply wasn’t plausible.

“Q.”

From the tone of voice, Q already knew – this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Given Bond’s appalling levels of subtlety where his boyfriend was concerned, it was even a relatively predictable subject line.

“You’re hurting yourself.”

It was not a question. At least, not literally; the question  _why_  was inherent, and disputing the main content was not really possible. Bond knew. Q could attempt to deny it, but there seemed limited point.

“Do you ever get a sense,” Q replied, very quietly, “that your thoughts are just beneath your skin, all your emotions are lingering there? Lingering, but constant, like a constant ache that never quite goes away… it’s just letting it out, finding a way to purge all of it from inside you so you can think clearly again. The fog lifts, for a while.”

“We need to get you help.”

Q didn’t attempt to deny it. There was absolutely no point. Bond was not likely to be swayed.

“I love you. Don’t think I don’t.”

Bond smiled, very slightly, very sadly.

“I love you, too. It’s why I won’t let you do this.”

Q bundled himself into Bond’s arms, let himself be held, let them near-silently try to ride out a storm that neither had wanted to weather, but had found themselves in. There was no point in anger, in tears, in reflection. It would not help.

They simply clung on, and waited for it to pass.


	458. Chapter 458

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I have a prompt, please consider it if you would have a little bit of time :) Q is doing some fancy experiment in Q-branch and a lot of people came to see the demonstration. In the experiment Q turns off the lights and uses ultra-violet light for some reason and it suddenly turns out that both he and Bond have some sperm marks in very visible places over their bodies. And that’s how MI6 get to know about their relationship :) – anon

“And, if you watch…”

Everybody watched.

Everybody, most  _definitely_ , watched.

In fact, Q would have given most of his limbs for everybody  _not_  watching, which is what they did almost all of the time, but apparently not right in this moment, not when he actually  _wanted_  them to not be looking because it was  _utterly_  the wrong moment.

Because Q had completely forgotten that sperm would be seen under UV light. If he had remembered, he would most definitely have changed his trousers just in case, and made sure there were  _no traces_  of anything on his hands, or anywhere else for that matter, but Q being Q (and having very inconvenient memory loss about Important things) had  _not_  managed to remove any-and-all traces.

Bond, if he had  _known_  UV was being used, would have promptly told Q that it was a Bad Idea to have sex in his office  _just before_  Q had a major presentation. If he had _known_ , he would have had the chance to wash his face better – which to be honest, he thought he had.

Evidently not.

Most present knew that Q and Bond had been in Q’s office together, prior to the presentation. They spent a fair amount of time together. Most assumed they were good friends, shared tea once in a while, chatted.

They did  _not_  assume that a double-oh agent was giving his Quartermaster blowjobs under the desk.

Q wanted the ground to open.

Bond,  _infuriatingly_ , looked completely impassive. He even smiled slightly, an expression that made Q want to  _punch_  him.

Eve cackled with laughter. M just looked mildly weary. Tanner looked just annoyed. R took a moment to work it out, and then choked on her water.

“Moving swiftly right along…” Q managed, with as much decorum as he could muster, and flicked the lights back on again.


	459. Chapter 459

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wold you make a 00Q fic with james being insecure about his age compared with Q’s, and about the much of secrecy between them, but Q assures him after a talk and much screams they get things resolve. Fluffy would be appreciated :) thank you dears ! – bacsun

“I don’t know a  _damn thing_ ,” Bond snapped, looking over his boyfriend; Q just stared back at him, infuriatingly impassive. “I don’t know your name. I don’t know anything, really – you could be lying about some of it, all of it…”

“… none of it,” Q completed softly.

Bond just looked at him, breathing slightly erratically.

Q managed a small, almost sad smile. “James, I don’t want to keep these things from you,” he confessed softly. “It’s nothing  _against_  you, you know that. It’s just… I have to. This is my job. This is my  _life_. I can’t have an identity any more.”

Bond reached out, seeking Q’s hand, sliding into it with a quiet type of desperation; he could slip away in a heartbeat and never be found, if he so wished. Bond knew how difficult it was to disappear, from people like Q. It was always people like Q. The ones who held more power than anybody could begin to grasp.

“I want to keep you safe. Keep  _us_  safe.”

“As do I.”

Q smiled slightly, cupping Bond’s cheek in his hand. “I love you, James Bond,” he said simply. “And no matter what else of me you do or don’t know, please, just know  _that_. I can’t tell you everything…”

Bond let out a small, almost sad sigh, Q trailing off.

“Don’t resent me?” Q asked quietly.

It was impossible not to smile. “I couldn’t if I tried,” Bond told him simply, and pulled Q into his arms.

It was not ideal, not by any stretch. But it would have to do.


	460. Chapter 460

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Education AU please? in which Q is a schoolboy head over heels in love with charming Bond but later finds out that he’s not only working for MI6 but also already married? You awesome lots decide the ending! Thank you sooo much <3 – anon

Q stared at the glove box blankly for a moment, not quite breathing, flicking through the papers and false names and false cards and false identities and a wedding ring and documentation, and felt his entire soul freeze.

He had been so  _stupid_.

Bond had been too good to be true, of course. Of course. People like Q –  _children_  like Q – did not get men like James Bond. Not when they were teenagers and average and _normal_ , as compared to the racing frenzy of the life he had glimpsed through James.

The betrayal was monumental.

Bond slid into the car, and looked at Q.

Q didn’t move. He continued to stare.

“Ah.”

Q was quiet for a moment.

“Is that it?” he asked, after a long while of silence. “Is that all you have to say? Fuck. Just  _fuck_. You’ve lied from the outset. You lied to me, and what the hell  _for_? So you could get me into bed? Christ, I can’t  _believe_  I’ve been such an idiot. You know I actually believed you? I  _believed_  that would actually…”

The thought trailed off, Q half-hyperventilating. “So what is it? Criminal?”

“MI6,” Bond answered, not missing a beat. “Double-oh sector.”

Q’s lips were bloodless, slack. “Double-oh,” he repeated in a low murmur. “My god.”

With that, he reached for the door handle. He fully intended to leave, there and then, and never look at James Bond again for the rest of his life.

A hand on his shoulder briefly stalled him. “Stay.”

“No,” Q said, very simply, heart shattered into a million pieces. He coul have dealt with most things, but not this. Not  _everything_  to be a lie. Not to understand that Bond had never once told him a fragment of truth. “Goodbye, James.”

Bond did something unforgiveable. He shattered the very last of Q’s belief, in an instant.

He let Q go.


	461. Chapter 461

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q was raised in a very loud and confrontational family. Not that they didn’t love him but as an extreme introvert it led to panic attacks and debilitating shyness. So one of his favorite things about being in a relationship with James is that he’s quiet and very patient. – anon

It was wonderful to simply  _be_.

Q had never been very good at people, en masse. They were not very good with him, either, really. It was necessary, sometimes, to simply be quiet; his job required quite enough human contact on a day-to-day basis without being forced into yet more when he  _finally_  knocked off.

When Bond had first expressed interest, Q had been both delighted, and mildly horrified.

It seemed very possible that the small degree of personal time, of personal expression, that he possessed would be stifled in a quick instant; the idea was utterly abhorrent, and it worried him.

Only, Bond seemed very much content to just be quiet. He didn’t have many issues with simply sitting in the corner of his office, being  _present_ , without requiring anything from Q.

He just watched, remained,  _was_.

Of course, Q didn’t  _simply_  decide to remove himself from interactions; he remained linked to Bond, aware that Bond had needs as much as he did; they found a way to make it balance, a way to make their etendencies twin and compliment. Q could be everything Bond needed, and Q – who was so  _used_  to the noise and stress and constant impact of a family, surrounding, throttling – began to calm with Bond’s presence. There was no threat, nothing to be concerned about.

Bond just watched from the corner of the room, with a gentle, almost lulling smile.

Q was worth quiet. Q was worth effort, and restraint, and annoyance. He was worth _everything_ , and if that meant quieting, he could  _do that_.

It was enough to hold Q in his arms at the end of a day, and sit in silence, watching the television or watching Q work, half-asleep while his arms wound around Q’s body, a presence, just a presence.

It was, in many regards, the most intimate relationship they could have.


	462. Chapter 462

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond finally gets to come over to Q’s house and discovers he’s the “old cat lady” of the neighborhood. Q has about 10 wandering in and out of the house. Would love if some of Q’s neighbors notice Bond’s continued visits and say how happy they are that the “nice, if skittish, young man” is getting some company. – anon

“Skittish.  _Skittish_.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, as a grey cat curled around his feet with a low purr. “Apparently,” he said, with a suppressed smirk. “I think it may have something to do with your harbouring most of the cats in North London.”

Q shot him a mildly pissed-off look. “They’re lovely, and nobody will tell me otherwise,” he said primly, scooping a ginger tomcat the size of a small lion off the floor, cuddling it to his chest. “They need looking after – most of them have owners who are out, I’m guessing.”

“You’re running a daycare centre for cats,” Bond told him, failing utterly at suppressing a grin. “Only you, Q.”

Q just raised an eyebrow, as a third entered through the window, making moves directly towards the grey one; Bond was abandoned in favour of something  _far_  more interesting. “That’s me told,” he commented drily.

“They love  _me_ , not you. Now, back to ‘skittish’…”

Bond laughed outright. “It has to be said, you do scare easily.”

“Do  _not_.”

It was tempting,  _so_  tempting, to test the theory; the lion curled in Q’s arms curtailed that idea, however. “I’ll illustrate the point one day, I’m sure,” he told Q lightly, and snorted as Q flicked him the finger.

“I’ll set my cats on you,” Q warned, intermittently crooning at the ginger slug. “Yes, I will. You’ll eat him alive, won’t you?”

The cat yawned, showing a shockingly wide mouth; Bond actually blanched slightly, to Q’s immense satisfaction. “That should teach you,” he said happily, and went into the kitchen to make himself tea, the cats trailing behind him.


	463. Chapter 463

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural creatures are commonplace in the world. Bond comes back from a mission dealing with a mad scientist who’d been experimenting on supernatural beings blood. Bond doesn’t realize he’s been infected with dragon’s blood and returns home to Q without checking in with medical. Nothing seems amiss until James won’t let Q leave for work and starts gathering valuable objects in the flat to sort and hide in odd locations. – anon

Bond was being odd.

In all honesty, Bond was  _often_  odd, but this was certainly odder than usual; his most recent mission hadn’t been overly  _stressful_ , per se, and there was no real reason for him to be surgically attached to his lover.

Q was getting a little bit concerned, but was also uncertain of how to broach the subject of his partner being  _weird_  in an undefinable way. If there was anything he could pinpoint, he  _would_.

As it happened, it took another  _month_  for Q to finally work it out.

Honestly, it was the hard drive was that did it.

Q had been going on about the hard drive, its value, its importance – and then Bond absolutely refused to let it out of the flat  _ever again_. It was moving on from odd, and into the realms of frankly psychotic.

Therefore, Q surreptitiously took a blood sample, playing on his suspicions, and handed it over to Medical and Supernatural Research department.

Less than twenty four hours later: Bond had been infected with dragon blood.

“Shit,” Q muttered. “Antidote?”

The rep from MRS shrugged. “Working on it,” she said, apologetically. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything.”

Q shook his head slightly, and surrendered to the simple fact that – for the foreseeable future, at least – he was not going to be entirely free, and everything he owned that proved even vaguely valuable was going to be hoarded.

It was  _such_  a pain in the arse.


	464. Chapter 464

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond meets Q-not-the-quartermaster in an airplane (cue dramatics caused by his rather rational fear of flying). Bond calms Q down, finishes his mission of disarming the bomb on board (maybe with Q’s assistance?), and ends up scoring a date with Q. – anon

Bond settled in his seat, next to a twitchy-looking but beautiful young man, dark hair and glasses, who was staring forward with a form of single-minded determination that didn’t seem entirely apt for the circumstances, and told Bond he was called ‘Q’ without really moving his jaw, which was practically white given how tight he was clenching it.

The mission was supposedly simple. Bond was relatively accustomed to matters not working as anticipated, so he didn’t hold out a tremendous amount of hope.

When chaos unfolded, it was honestly not – in  _any_  sense – from where he had anticipated said chaos.

No.

Instead, the young man next to him started to cry.

Bond did not like beautiful young men crying for no explicable reason.

Bond also  _really_  did not like bombs on passenger planes, which was the next revelation.

“Q?”

Q didn’t sob, but tears continued to trickle down his cheeks, unacknowledged. “I’m fine,” he managed. “Flying. Hate flying.”

That explained the curious staring. Bond breathed out, gently placing a hand on Q’s cheek, wiping away tears with a thumb. “So Q,” Bond continued, vaguely aware that he should  _really_  get onto the pressing subject on the bomb on board, “tell me about yourself.”

“Computer programmer, and munitions expert,” he mumbled. “I’m supposed to be going to a conference in Berlin, I…”  
Bond raised an eyebrow. He knew the type of beings going to said conference, and knew he was on this flight because of one of the afore-mentioned beings, who were  _world experts_ , on the cutting edge of many intellectual and conceptual somethings in the realms of technology and general brilliance.

In other words, Q was the one Bond had been sent to protect.

Bloody brilliant.

“I suppose you’d be very good at dealing with explosives?” he asked, keeping his voice down, so as not to concern other passengers.

Q glanced at him, glasses slightly smeared with his own tears. “One of my specialities,” he replied, voice a little steadier.

Bond didn’t actually need to fill Q in on why he was asking.

“Show me,” Q told him, in a surprisingly steady, and utterly commanding, tone.


	465. Chapter 465

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has a higher marksmanship score than Bond, or anyone at MI6 for that matter in this year’s testing. This absolutely turns on 007 who wastes no time ravaging Q in the testing range. – anon

It wasn’t hard to find out the scores for everybody in the marksmanship tests that year.

Mostly because Q had made it go absolutely  _viral_ , out of sheer satisfaction, an almost _malicious_  joy at being better than the  _agents who shot things for a living_. Q had always told them that he would be better – for god’s sake, he  _tested_  the bloody things – but having it on paper was damn satisfying.

Alec sulked, Tanner didn’t care, R smirked and bought him a drink.

Bond just came to track him down, when he was testing a new Walthers, which had needed some specific amendments to capture a larger magazine without compromising on the general sturdiness and efficiency. Q really  _liked_  Walthers. He would personally always use a Glock – the weight was better, more balanced for his tastes – but the Walther was a lovely piece of equipment regardless, and standard issue for field agents.

It took precisely four minutes for Q to find himself pinned against the wall, Bond kissing him hard enough to bruise.

Q didn’t speak.

He moved the gun to the side of Bond’s head.

Bond shifted back, very slowly, and Q just cocked his head with a slight smile, a question in his expression.

A grin. “Traffic lights, if we need them,” Bond told him calmly; Q nodded, happily adapting, assimilating the new information and rather glad Bond was being responsible about it all, given that everything was happening rather abruptly. “ _Sir_ ,” Bond finished.

Q felt a spike of absolutely  _blinding_  want rush abruptly downwards.

The gun shifted slightly, and Q’s hand snaked over Bond’s back, up to his shoulder, pushing him down onto his knees. The gun remained poised at Bond’s temple. “Bet you I can still shoot perfectly with your mouth around my cock,” Q told him, in a soft voice.

Bond’s eyes turned bright, sharp, his grin all teeth, and got to work.


	466. Chapter 466

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond tells Q “I love you”, and Q being the adorably socially-awkward creature that he is says “thank you” in response. 007 is letdown by this and throws a pity party with 006 (aka a drinking spree at Alec’s flat), which Q crashes in a panic with the correct emotional response. Alec doesn’t know whether to feel aroused or embarrassed by their enthusiastic physical expression of feelings on his couch, kitchen counter, dining table… – anon

Alec put his head in his hands, and tried to regulate his instinctive reaction to mass-murder. Generally, he was not fond of people who essentially herded him out of  _his own flat_  due to their apparent ability to fuck on every single surface in  _his_  flat, due to their inability to get to their  _own_  flat.

Bond had arrived, informed Alec that he had finally managed to tell Q that he loved him.

Alec grinned. “Excellent,” he laughed. “And?”

“Thank you,” Bond replied, voice utterly dry, such a long way from delighted it was actively painful.

Alec stepped back to let Bond in, and found the cognac.

Less than an hour later, there had been frantic hammering at the door; Alec had raised an eyebrow, hand straying towards the small flick-knife he kept on him in lieu of his usual gun, and opening it. “James?” Q asked, tumbling through the door, all but ignoring Alec. “James, I love you too.”

Bond had waited exactly three seconds, before Alec’s quartermaster was slammed against the now-closed front door, literally inches from Alec’s nose.

Unsurprisingly, Alec extracted himself as quickly as possible, and retreated back to see when the mess of hormones in his hall would return to acting like grown-ups.

No time soon, apparently. Q had been reduced to  _whimpering_  on the kitchen table, Bond doing something Alec was noting down to transfer into his own repertoire, and for  _god’s sake_ , Bond was his best friend and Q was his goddamn superior officer, and they were going to break the  _goddamn_  table, but Alec didn’t especially want to intervene to inform them that the bedroom was just through the door.

It certainly didn’t help that unfortunately, hearing two people pleasure one another in such  _graphic_  ways, on his own bloody kitchen table, was inspiring something of an instinctive biological response.

Eventually, it just got silly.

Alec rolled his eyes, went into bedroom, and quite happily relieved his own sexual tension while his quartermaster and best friend had almost-sex in his kitchen.


	467. Chapter 467

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a workaholic and goes to work despite nursing a bad cold. This only serves to turn him more glazed over and his voice more husky. This is entirely to blame for the inadvertent phone sex (unintentional and unknown on Q’s part, and entirely too eager and flirty on James’) that happens as he guides Bond through his latest mission. Tanner sighs and makes a note to R to ‘clean up’ the recordings of the interaction. – anon

To be quite frank, Bond couldn’t even really be blamed.

Q did sound like a porn star. Everything he said, no matter how innocuous or not, took on an incredible low purr, like a jungle cat of some description; quite frankly, Tanner was a little turned on himself, and he was straight as a ruler.

Bond, who had been dating Q for a  _very_  long while now, didn’t stand a chance.

Although, that didn’t  _quite_  excuse the slightly frightening levels of sexual innuendo Bond was pouring into each sentence; Q was merrily oblivious, and Bond just let out moans and occasional growls which were literally obscene.

Most of the minions, however, didn’t seem overly surprised; they just continued working, devoid of even the usual winces or generally horrified expressions Tanner could envisage the rest of MI6 having under the circumstances.

 “I would suggest cleaning the recordings,” he told R quietly, as Q told Bond to  _do what the fuck he said_ , and Bond just let out a moan, and told him  _yes sir_ , and Q  _still_  didn’t seem to have realised Bond was probably busy wanking himself off on the other end given that being given orders in a voice like that was essentially begging for trouble.

R just looked at Tanner with pure, unadulterated pity. “Oh dear,” she said simply.

“What?” Tanner asked, with the curious sense that he was missing something.

“This is  _tame_. Bond’s being surprisingly restrained,” she replied, shaking her head very slightly. “Although, in his defence, it’s usually Q being completely incorrigible.”

Tanner blinked.

“… I think it’s the cold, messing with his libido,” R mused. “Anyway. Bill, I have to clean pretty much  _everything_  that gets sent to you lot upstairs. I’ve made a programme that can filter out some of the more obvious obscenities, but I do a manual scan-through as well, I promise. Q does the same for me… 002 is very,  _very_ irresponsible on comms sometimes…”

R trailed off, with an almost-drugged, content expression. “ _Mmn_ ,” she finished, eyes a little bit glazed.

Tanner just remained a little bit frozen.

This.  _This_  was why he never went into Q-branch. Overly intelligent, very sarcastic, and the sex drive of goddamn  _bunnies_.

Bond let out another moan, and Tanner escaped as fast as he physically could.


	468. Chapter 468

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, wonderful writers! I have a prompt. We all know that Q has his scrabble mug and I feel like canon is that he buys his superiors scrabble mugs as well [like M and Eve, R maybe]. but when it comes to James he has a different letter than J and people want to know what the letter stands for [which can be any letter and Q’s pet name for Bond] Fluffy fluff fluff drabble. Thank you! – anon

M was actually extremely fond of his ‘M’ mug. It made him feel like he had finally been _accepted_  into the upper echelons of MI6, after the nightmare of his predecessor’s abrupt loss and what had been originally perceived as his ‘invasion’ into the role.

Q was essentially extending an olive branch. He was letting M know that all grievances had been put aside, and they were now on equal and very content terms.

Eve just wanted a mug. Q supplied a mug. She grinned like an idiot.

R needed a mug, because god  _damn it_ , everybody with initials should have mugs, it’s just an obvious life truism. Mugs are Good Things.

Obviously, Bond had a mug. He had a very nice mug, another Scrabble mug – like everybody had – and it should have said B or maybe even J, but it did not. Which was odd.

Instead, it said Z.

Everybody looked at it with unapologetic confusion.

Bond didn’t deign to explain, and neither did Q. It was just a peculiarity. Everybody had  _something_ pertaining to their names, and both J and B were easy to find, and  _yet_ , Q had somehow – for some reason – opted for a ‘Z’.

Everybody thus had theories, mostly revolving around which pet name Q could have found which could  _possibly_  start with a ‘z’.

The truth was a little odder, and their own form of sentimentality, in the way on the pair of them could have ever truly managed.

Q10. One of the highest scoring tiles in Scrabble.

Z10.

Nothing complex. Irrelevant, and yet integral.

Just the simple, small fact of being wholly and entirely  _equal_.


	469. Chapter 469

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey.. i really, really, REALLY! love your fills. i am watching Narnia :) so if you culd do a prompt were Q and Bond is watching Narnia and Q tells Bond that he reminds him of aslan.. add some fluff and stuff, and there you go :) –kuvo

“Aslan.”

Q nodded slightly, looking at Bond with contemplative curiosity. “I’d say so,” he agreed, looking to the screen and back. “Definitely. Aslan.”

Bond raised an eyebrow with evident scepticism. “A lion who’s a living analogy of God?” he asked drily.

Q cuffed him lightly around the back of the head. “Don’t be a twat,” he told Bond curtly. “I mean it in a nice way.”

“Again – lion?”

“Brave,” Q supplemented, voice turning oddly quiet. “Just. Honest. Consistent. All of those qualities – somebody who comes in, and fixes all the problems. Just somebody who makes everything better. Does that make sense?”

Throughout Q’s small speech, Bond had begun to smile. Only faintly, but enough, enough to make it very evident indeed that Bond more than simply  _forgave_  him, but was rather flattered and didn’t  _quite_  want to admit it but was doing so by virtue of being wholly unable to stop smirking like an idiot.

Q let him. It was Bond. He was always an idiot, but frankly, there was nothing Q could love more than an idiot like James Bond – the man who could, who  _would_ , protect him from all things in the world. Protect the world from all things, too.

To the end of his life, Q would feel that sense of suspension. That their world could never quite be real. That any moment, he would discover that he had forgotten all about the wardrobe and the world beyond,  _his_  world, and would accidently stumble back to find himself a child again, with no James again.

Q never went looking, and Bond never let him go.


	470. Chapter 470

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So my new favorite song is “Sight of Sun” by Fun. and it totally reminds me of Bond xD 00q please? Thank you!!!!!!!!!!! – blueskycloud9

Bond’s body was wrecked, his soul barely holding together around the edges, and the shadows had become all so very long ago that it was near enough impossible to work out another way of being. He didn’t simply live in shadow: he made them what they were. The consuming entities that nothing could breach.

Sunlight could slice through those shadows.

Bond never saw the sun.

Except, Q never saw the sunlight either. Not in a literal sense; he spent his time so deeply entrenched in the chaos of Q-branch and work and the melee of surrounding interests, his own shadows, working to  _form_  the shadows that Bond breathed like oxygen, letting them spread over what limited world remained open.

Q held onto him. Anchored him.

Bond could no longer bear to let go. The contact was everything; intense and desperate and immediate and  _theirs_ , and Bond would chase him up and over the world to keep him there, just keep him there.

It took a long while to realise that Q sliced through Bond’s shadows. He simply  _did_. The secrets were known, the past was forgotten; there was nothing left to hide, because Q knew it all regardless.

Bond had thought it would be more frightening, to realise that somebody knows everything about you. Another, single human being knows  _everything_.

It was warm, gentle, safe. Dissolved the clouds and set fire to the world. Threw him completely off balance, teetering towards the edge, and rescued him moments from falling.

Q loved him.

Everything else ceased to matter.


	471. Chapter 471

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King James and Consort Q? James is out of mourning from his first arranged marriage. Luckily, that marriage produced heirs so now he feels free to marry for affection. He finds that affection conveniently placed in Q, the dedicated tutor of his children. Would love if Q is oblivious and that James’ kids have to clue him in. – anon

A small sigh, and Q bopped the child on the head with his book. “Scoot, get  _back here_ ,” Q told him crossly, as said child darted halfway across the room, sticking his tongue out. “ _Now_.”

Scoot (whose real name was Andrew, but nobody ever called him that), Luke, and Rose were all old enough to be affected by their mother’s death, but young enough to be growing up quite well independently of her memory. Q had – and knew he had – slid into the gap she had left behind.

Not that he would ever say it; to imply that he was in  _any sense_  equal to a member of the Royal Family, deceased or otherwise, was treason that would probably abbreviate his life expectancy quite considerably.

No: he was very much content to remain an extremely beloved aspect of the Royal Family. The children considered him essentially a god, and Q was content to leave them happily believing that notion that he was  _precisely_  that.

“Daddy loves you.”

Q froze slightly.

The one thing about small children is that they simply do not possess even the vague _capacity_  for subtlety.

Which meant that if anybody  _heard_  what said small child was saying, and assumed that said small child was  _telling the truth_ , then Q stood to get himself eaten alive by a host of not-very-impressed people who would think he had wantonly seduced the leader of their great country for the purposes of stealing the throne or something equally bizarre.

Thus, Q hushed them a little sharply, and continued trying to teach them.

When lessons ended, and the children had dispersed, Q lingered a while in his teaching rooms; they adjoined the main bulk of the living quarters of the palace, his own room slightly off in a different wing. “Hey.”

Q couldn’t help the smile; it crept along his lips now, without intent, without effort. It just  _existed_ , as a simple fact, whenever he heard that voice.

“Your majesty,” Q replied, with a deferential nod.

Bond lifted his head, fingers warm beneath Q’s chin, blue eyes bright and playful. “How are you?” he asked, with every note of seriousness.

Q remained caught, absolutely captivated by him, the children’s words chorusing _loves you_  and Q daring to imagine for a moment, in this quiet moment, daring to dream that perhaps, just  _perhaps_ , King James Bond may actually love him in the same way that Q could not deny he loved.

Fingers trailed over soft skin, and Q’s breath caught a thousand times in a row, and he was so  _warm_  and so gentle, and kissing him ( _kissing him_ ) was like nothing Q could have imagined, could have  _believed_ , even for the most caught and delicate of moments.

He was kissing the King.

“Marry me,” a voice breathed over him, into him, and Q fell headily into somebody else’s arms, and let himself be held.


	472. Chapter 472

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, love your works! Just one request: 00Q with Q’s famous line “Oh, growe up, double-oh-seven!”. Love you girls! – anon

Bond just stared.

“You’re not actually expecting me to wear that?” he asked drily.

Q didn’t even look at him.

The mission required several levels of infiltration, which meant that yes, Bond was going to have to abandon his usual suits and general suavity, and instead make himself look like the kind of man who would frequent extremely nasty bars and pick up cheap whores, and potentially deal drugs on an ever-increasingly large scale.

Q was coming too, and he was busy forming at outfit that made him look like a teenager heroin addict, and potentially Bond’s bit-on-the-side. The precise arrangements for that had yet to be stated. The idea was that Bond could deal with the dealers and the general lynchpins, while Q acquired information from the lower echelons. It needed to be Q, simply because they would be in deep cover, and Q was the only one who could really safely send information back without getting blown. Bond needed to be monitored and outfitted properly throughout, in addition. Q was fully field trained, after all, and R was more than capable of holding the fort until he got back.

Bond had yet to be informed about that particular strand of the mission.

For now, Bond was still staring.

Essentially, Bond did not have the acting skills to look like he’d been a street dealer all his life. Q had therefore opted for the look of somebody who’d been around a little longer, with enough assets to have tried to make himself  _look_  like he had some money about.

The suit was pretty much plastic. For fuck’s sake, it was slightly  _shiny_.

“I’m not wearing it.”

Q shot him a look of pure, livid fury. “Bond, it is a  _mission_. I am outfitting you. You will wear, use, precisely what I tell you.”

“But…”

“You are not the only one less than delighted with this setup…”

“I will look like…”

“Oh,  _grow up_ , double-oh seven,” Q snapped, with all the power at his disposal. “If you want this mission – which I was under the impression you did – then you will act your age, and get on with the mission at hand. Believe me when I say that there may well be far less palatable aspects to this mission then your clothing.”

Bond stilled slightly. He could sense an edge in Q’s tone that he was not entirely fond of. “Q..?”

Q looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“What have you not told me?”

Q’s smile turned terrifyingly, breathtakingly mischievous.

“You read your mission brief?” Q enquired lightly, and watched the colour very gradually drain from Bond’s expression, as he started to work it out. “I’m your companion on this mission. Track marks and sexual undertones very much included.”

Q would cherish Bond’s expression for the rest of his life. 


	473. Chapter 473

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I love your fics I’m sending a prompt: Bond snaps and is arrested awaiting death for treason, can be either 006 that has to do it or another agent but Q comes to see him? – madwriterscorner

Bond’s expression twitched into a slight, faint smile. “Hello.”

Q couldn’t quite bring his expression to anything other than hostile, almost sad, but not quite. Just something that couldn’t quite  _be_ , a sense of unease, general unhappiness. “You lost your mind, didn’t you?” he asked softly, with an almost-anger bubbling beneath the surface. “You finally  _lost it_ …”

“I watched a classroom of children die,” he replied simply, unashamedly. “Nobody in the UK reported on it. A child dies here, the news are up in arms. However many die in places far away, it isn’t known. It isn’t a point of concern.”

“You went rogue because of the media culture in the UK?”

“I went rogue because of the  _culture_  in the UK,” Bond corrected. “The ethos. The attitude that we can interfere, and there are no repercussions.”

Q was very still, almost entirely frozen.

“I’m sorry,” Bond told him, almost honestly. “I never meant for this to hit you.”

The laugh he got in return was bitter and angry. “Of course you didn’t,” Q growled. “Of bloody course you didn’t. I had to go through a bloody investigation, you know that?”

Bond’s smile sobered out again, a flat line. “I am sorry,” he repeated, with a ring of utter truth. “Q, this was never… I didn’t set out to destroy anything. I couldn’t bear being a part of it any more. MI6 doesn’t let you retire quietly, when you’re somebody like me, it’s why I should have disappeared when I went MIA all that time ago. MI6 doesn’t let people like me go, and I won’t let them keep me.”

Q was quiet for a moment. “They’re going to kill you.”

Bond nodded, sympathetic, curiously enough. “I know,” he agreed lightly. “I’m not surprised. Actually, no – I expected them to take me out a while ago. I’m a little surprised it’s taken this long, and that they’re doing it almost officially.”

It was difficult to even look at him. Bond had caused hell, had caused  _everybody_  hell, and Q watched him with a quiet and pained type of disbelief because this wasn’t  _fair_. It simply wasn’t fair to ask him to keep caring and fighting and wanting all at once, because the official party line stated that James Bond was going to die in a few hours’ time, and Q didn’t want it to happen.

Mostly because he couldn’t quite leave behind a creeping, unpleasant feeling that Bond was right.

MI6 swallowed people. They swallowed lives. They didn’t stay to see the mess they left behind, and they were biased, and Queen and Country was not always the best possible outcome. Q had wanted to help people, not hurt them. Countries were stupid things to ally oneself to. It was  _people_.

Like James Bond, who wanted to run away from the organisation that let him watch children die.

The decision was remarkably easy; the door hissed, and Q extended a hand. “Prove your immortality,” Q said, with the suggestion of a wry smile, and they  _ran_.


	474. Chapter 474

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q never dreamed that James would be a possessive little shit after they slept together. Bond is notorious for one night stands and Q when home with him knowing that. However, after his 6th interrupted date by something to do with Bond he’s starting to get suspicious. – anon

“Bond needs…”         

“Oh, why am I not  _bloody_  surprised,” Q snapped, and hung up. Breathing a little heavily through his nose, he turned to face his date: a charming young man from Medical whom he happened to be rather keen on. It was more luck than judgement that he’d managed to get a date in the first place.

Which meant, of  _course_ , that the greatest cockblocker in known history had yet _another_  crisis.

The only Q was uncertain of was  _why_. He and Bond had managed a single, and admittedly extremely good, night. Bond turned out to be entirely worthy of the various compliments that got showered over his sexual prowess, Q more than held his own in response, and they both tumbled out of the bed the next morning and neither really mentioned it again.

Bond did single nights. No ties. He certainly didn’t do relationships with men for any protracted periods. Q knew that. He had known that when Bond started flirting, he had known that over drinks, and he had certainly known that when they actually made it to the bed, and every other possible surface in the house.

Only now, Bond was resolutely managing to interrupt everything in the way of actual _relationships_  Q tried. It was getting absurd. It was  _always_  Bond. A mission crisis. A friend of his crashing a date. Arriving at the same bloody bar. It  _never ended_.

“Bond, why are you intent on destroying my love life?”

Bond sounded almost confused for a moment. “I don’t know what you mean,” he returned calmly, eyebrow raised, clutching various pieces of something that had probably once been a laptop. His work laptop.

“You’ve sabotaged  _every single date_  I’ve tried to go on for the last six months,” Q snapped at him, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. “So go on. Is this how you get your kicks, or…”

Bond rolled his eyes elaborately, returning to stare at Q. “Not quite,” he interrupted. “I’m not sabotaging, I’m deflecting. I’ve been hoping you’d work it out a lot sooner.”

Q’s eyes narrowed. “What work out a lot…”

He cut off.

Blinked.

Bond dropped everything he was holding, and scooped his Quartermaster into a kiss – which said Quartermaster willingly, happily, returned.


	475. Chapter 475

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Wanted to let you know your writing always brightens my day. Thank you. I wanted to prompt this for a while, so here goes : Q has been lusting after Bond from afar, thinking the agent would no way be interested in him. He is asked to develop a programme to find and destroy any images of MI6 agents stored electronically. When the programme runs Q discovers Bond’s phone is full of candid pictures of Q looking adorable. Much fluff and/or smut ensues. Thanks Again. – anon

Q absentmindedly ran the programme though; it would supposed to scan all electronic devices, and establish whether there was any facial recognition that correlated with active agents, or other important figures within MI6.

There were a few general ones, mostly from within MI6 which had been sourced out for some reason. A few genuine concerns, which Q flagged to follow up on. A few somewhat amusing ones of agents in compromising positions, a few of which Q may or may not have placed in a folder for future blackmail-related reasons.

Then, there was a hit on Q.

Naturally, Q’s interest was immediately piqued.

There was a blurred family photo, which made Q’s face turn into something sad and scrambled, and was deleted quite quickly.

And then there was James Bond.

Q didn’t know whether to be flattered, or just a little scared, or to run around in hysterical and delighted circles like a teenager.

Not just a single photo. No. An entire  _catalogue_  of photos, all of Q, all them showing Q at various different points. Smiling, in most of them. Laughing a few times. A few of him working, a quiet expression of deft concentration, and a spark of something in his eyes. All of them without him noticing. Just a turn of a head, a flicker of a life, moving through a sarcastic comment or twelve and managing to not  _see_.

Q rang him. “Bond?”

“Oh, hello Q. Social call?”

His voice was velvet, Q mused to himself, a quiet and insistent want thrumming through his veins. He had become so  _used_  to not thinking about it, trying to ignore it, aware that Bond was massively out of his league and Q would be fated to just stare at him forever, and pray that one day he may be worthy of notice.

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, with trademark dryness. “No, I was just enquiring as to the collection of photographs I’ve found on your phone. Entirely unintentional, I must add.”

Bond was very silent for a moment. “Shit,” he managed eventually; Bond never swore. Q smirked slightly to himself. “Q, don’t think badly of me. I’m away on missions a lot, and I… I like you, I have done for a while now, and…”

“Dinner. Eight. I’ll dress nicely and everything,” Q interjected, with far more control than he felt, entire chest expanding and making him feel practically weightless. “Sound good?”

Bond’s grin was literally audible. “Absolutely,” he replied immediately. “See you then, Q. I’ll pick you up from Q-branch.”

Q gave him an affirmative, and hung up.

Proceeded to screech slightly, curling himself up in his desk chair, half-cackling with sheer joy. “Oh my  _god_ ,” he said aloud to himself, energy pounding, everything in him alert and alive and electric.

He was going on a date with James Bond.

Who had ‘liked him for a while’.

_Ha_.


	476. Chapter 476

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a anonymous inventor that MI6 is trying to get a hold of but not because of he’s a terrorist. He makes all kinds of self defense gadgets and publishes/distributes anonymously and they what that ingenuity for their own. When they find him they discover an extremely shy hermit of a young man who only goes outside for the occasional art gallery visit. With no other options, M sends 007 to a showing to slowly create a rapport with him in order to coax him into working for MI6. – runemarks

He was very young, very sweet. Looked about sixteen, with enormous glasses and hair that desperately needed a cut; MI6 kept him under surveillance, and established quickly that other than some grocery shops and visits to various London art galleries, the boy very rarely left his flat.

He was also one of the most innovative inventors MI6 had ever come across. Currently selling his work mostly online, and publishing series of papers on technological innovations that Q-branch in particular found utterly captivating. Boothroyd practically cried with want.

Thus, he needed to be approached with tremendous care. The worst thing would be to scare the poor boy off by a too-hasty attack; thus, the single most charming and suave agent of the secret service was sent to find him.

Bond sat in an art gallery, glancing over antiquated paintings of ships, of seas, of worlds expired.

The young man entered not long after. That much was expected; Bond had been on call for a while, waiting for word of this boy’s departure, ready and waiting in the gallery. He kept a surreptitious eye, his earpiece long since disconnected, and waited for the opportune moment.

As it happened, the opportune moment found him.

“Always makes me feel a little melancholy.”

Bond jumped a little, but hid it remarkably well.

“… grand old warship, being ignominiously hauled away for scrap…”

The voice was beautiful, calm, rounded. Crisp consonants and light vowels, a gentle, almost lulling motion. He sighed a little, and Bond glanced to him, seeing green eyes focused on the painting. “The inevitability of time, don’t you think?”

Bond didn’t say a word, somewhat held in this curious boy’s thrall. “What do you see?” the young man asked.

Of course, Bond’s mouth crooked in a smile. He glanced to the painting, and back again. “A bloody big ship,” he said, tone light, teasing. Friendly, really. “I’m Bond, by the way. James Bond.”

The boy looked at him, truly  _looked_. His smile was unreadable, but entrancing all the same. “I’m known as Q,” he replied softly. “And stellar observation, but really, I think there’s a little more to it than that.”

Bond laughed, a little more brightly, finding himself curiously at ease.

Q smiled back, a returning shy thing, and Bond realised he was probably in trouble.


	477. Chapter 477

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i spent the past few days reading everything i could find from you on AO3, and i must say i love you, you have such an amazing talent!! anyway, if you want and have time i have 2 prompts for you: one is a song prompt, “Fix You” by Coldplay, with hurt!Bond and comfort!Q (anything else’s your pick!) - fridatwin

Bond was immensely quiet. Almost dangerously so, if Q was quite honest; Bond was never so quiet, even in the world of situations. He could always find something, a quiet something to keep him occupied, to create sound in a world of silence, before it drove everything into a spiral and was almost painful to exist in.

Q had cooked, which had been a nightmare of recipes and stress and lying a little bit about how much he had done from scratch which Bond could probably see through, but didn’t comment on.

He always commented on such things. Q couldn’t help but be worried.

Q reached out, fingers stroking gently along the contours of Bond’s face, trying to touch something far deeper than skin. Wordless, gentle.

Candles spread across surfaces. A tribute, of sorts, but also just a way to find intimacy; dinner and red wine and something like a smile that crept along Bond’s expression, the simple facts of Q’s being there, and him caring enough.

“Thank you,” he murmured, almost inaudibly, breaking the silence open with an almost shattering sound. A sense of  _finally_ , of greeting, a plea for forgiveness for making things so difficult.

Q smiled slightly, continued to care, in his own quiet way. He always did so. He learned the little things that could break through; a few stolen touches, glances, little fragments of care that could build and access and finally give him a platform to simply look after somebody like James Bond, who never let himself be vulnerable.

A man who was damaged, but didn’t want to admit it.

So Q simply expressed that he would always be there. A constant. An anchor, for somebody who desperately needed a reason to keep coming home. Something to strive for  and to love quite entirely, who would never find reason to hurt him.

Q stayed, and helped him heal, and that was enough.


	478. Chapter 478

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I adore your stories! And I hope my prompt is something you’ll like. Are you familiar with the X-Ray glasses from an earlier Bond film? They’d fit very well in a 00Q fic! (is it possible to request as little minion interference as possible?) Thanks either way! – anon

Q was, in short, a cheeky little shit.

Nobody really knew he owned the glasses. They had been his own side project, along with a handful of other things, and he absolutely adored them. It was probably wise that he didn’t put them into general circulation, given that he strongly suspected that they would be used absolutely  _everywhere_ , and everybody would get done for some aspect of the law like common decency or something like that which would end  _very_ badly.

So instead, Q kept them entirely for himself, and spent quite a long time giggling.

Bond, equally, had absolutely no idea. Q had every idea. He very liked the view. He mostly kept the damned glasses on him for whenever Bond was around (alright, so maybe a couple of other active agents too) because good  _god_ , the man was a delight.

For a while, Bond had suspected that there was something Q was hiding. For all his brilliance, the man was not precisely the subtlest of creatures; he couldn’t lie for toffee, and had a number of tells that were rather revealing.

Including, curiously, the way he had differently framed glasses when Bond was around. Not to mention the way he scanned up and down Bond’s body, and very slightly – almost imperceptibly – smiled.

Ultimately, Bond just broke into his office. It seemed simplest.

He looked around for a bit, found that the desk was locked. Picking it was shockingly difficult, but Q had left one of his lockpicks just lying about, which made matters a  _lot_ easier.

The glasses sat on top of a pile of papers.

Bond picked them up, looked at them carefully. Nothing especially revolutionary about them, or so it initially seemed.

Well, until he put them on.

Everything looked a little bit  _odd_ , initially. It took a moment to adapt. Bond’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked around, wondering whether it was just the vision correction, but startled at the odd changes in colour and clarity, and how he could  _see through the bloody door_.

Q appeared a moment later with a firearm.

“Bond. What the  _hell_  do you think you’re playing at, breaking into… oh. Shit.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Q, why can I see through your clothing?”

Q turned a truly hilarious shade of pink. “I have been testing out… well. They’re x-ray glasses. I’ve been trying them out.”

“For at least two months?”

The colour intensified.

Bond took pity. “I have to say, I’m not exactly objecting,” he purred, glancing up and down Q’s body.

The colour turned properly pillar-box red.

Bond crossed the room, and kissed him.


	479. Chapter 479

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has a bunch of cats, no surprise there. However these aren’t your average cats. He has no idea where the shelter got them from, but when you pet them they can change your looks. Hair color, hair style, color of your fingernails, skin tone. Everything’s fair game and Q’s learned to live with that. James however is woefully unprepared for the cuddly creatures. – entangledwood

Bond was more than a little bit surprised to open the door, to find a figure who was almost-definitely Q, cat in his arms and all, but had blond hair that stretched halfway down his back, and whose lips were bright purple. “Hello,” he said brightly, and pushed the door open.

It took a moment, but Bond was prepared to suspend his disbelief; Q was often very, very odd. This was new, but actually not the weirdest thing he had ever seen from his Quartermaster.

Except that when he turned back, Q’s hair was still blonde, but was in a Mohawk. “Okay,” Bond said slowly. “What the hell is going on?”

A cat at Bond’s feet mewed; Bond didn’t watch it, feeling the thing nuzzle against his leg, and for Q to start smirking. “ _What_?!” Bond asked irately, and looked down at the cat, catching his hand in his peripheral vision.

Which was a lovely ebony shade.

“The  _fuck_?!”

Bond was seriously wondering if he was tripping or something, because things were a _long way_  out of hand, and Q’s lips were no longer purple but his hair was now very pink, and Bond was literally  _reeling_  as he tried to work out what in the name of all things holy was going on. “Calm down,” Q soothed, stroking the cat’s head – and his skin went vaguely blue, and Bond blinked, and it was normal again – “It’s the cats.”

Definitely on drugs.

“No,” Bond said slowly. “Cats don’t do…  _this_.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Go on, stroke his head. B, please turn him back to normal, he’s panicking.”

Bond had no bloody idea what was going on.

In lieu of anything more constructive to do, he stroked the bloody cat.

His skin turned back to normal. “Oh, you little…” Q chastised, placing the cat  _he_  was holding on the ground, and moving to ‘B’. “That’s not fair. Blond, please. And if you change his eye colour you get no Sheba for a month, you understand?”

Bond paled slightly, and found a reflective surface.

Oh good  _god_ , he was ginger.

Q presented him with a cat. Bond, honestly at the stage of  _whimpering_  slightly – reached out to said cat.

He looked back in the mirror, and mercifully found that hair – and skin – were back to normal. “I need explanations, Q, and I’m getting a damn blood panel done when I get back to HQ,” he rasped, while Q’s hair turned into a rather pretty rainbow. “Fucking _hell_.”

“Language,” Q chastised gently, and brought him kitchen-wards to find him coffee, and probably whiskey.


	480. Chapter 480

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you write a stalker!Bond who’s obsessed with Q and has a bunch of pictures of him on his bedroom walls and old tissues that he’s used pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease! Xx – anon

Bond pasted the picture on his wall, and stood back slightly, smiling almost invisibly.

He kept a close eye on his Quartermaster. A closer eye than one would expect, or really understand, but a close eye nonetheless. It was a rarity, to find something so beautiful, and yet so strong.

Q was utterly entrancing.

It was easy to keep him in close sight, under close surveillance. It was easy to know every facet of the man, and revel in everything. The quirks, the smiles, the laughter. It was  _absurdly_  easy to trace every little moment of the man, and document it.

Perhaps it was incorrect. Certainly, it was massively socially incorrect. But quite frankly, Bond was not as repentant as all that.

Except, it became quite difficult to explain when Q found out.

Bond had no idea  _how_  he had found out, but suspected it had something to do with using Q-branch tech to take various images of his Quartermaster when he was unaware. It was Q’s own technology, it made some sense that he would monitor its use.

His expression remained studiously unrepentant.

Q looked very pale, and a little bit sick. “Would you like to explain?” he asked, voice closed.

Bond raised an eyebrow, and simply said: “No.”

The desk forming an odd little barrier, Q just watched him for a moment. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So you’re… fuck, you’re… Bond, you’re going to have to talk to M, and I’m registering this, because I’m a little… this is not good, double-oh seven. This is frankly disturbing, if I’m quite honest, and…”

Bond took a step, and Q recoiled slightly. “Please don’t,” he said flatly, and looked behind Bond, to the door. “I repeat – disturbing. Now, get  _out_  of my office, and get to M’s office before I get you escorted there.”

Still, Bond said absolutely nothing. “Nice seeing you, Q,” he murmured, and turned to leave.

Q locked the door behind him, and allowed himself a full-bodied shudder, before returning to his work.


	481. Chapter 481

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m moving to Sweden tomorrow to go do my MA in History (eek!) so can I have a fic please? Q is the code breaker for Walsingham (the first spy) who, through breaking Queen Mary of Scots’ code, finds out that his Scottish lover James is plotting against Queen Elizabeth in the Babington Plot. Angst or happy ending you decide. Lots of love to the both of you! I adore your work! Xx – anon

Q felt bizarrely calm.

Queen and Country, he had once been told. Queen and Country, his lover had informed him repeatedly, had promised and confirmed and reiterated and made Q _believe_.

They were unpopular enough as it was. It was quite understandable, for a man to acquire a young boy for sexual purposes – but the fact that Q and Bond had been together for quite as long as they had, without finding women or indeed marrying, was beginning to reflect rather badly on them.

Bond being Scottish also didn’t help. The only thing worse would have been Catholicism, quite frankly.

This, however, was something entirely different. This was something Q had never even begun to dream of, the type of thing that seemed so  _alien_  that it could not  _possibly_ be anything to do with his James Bond.

The quill flew over the page, and Q’s eyes were dead as he dispatched a courier who was known for being discrete. He expected a response within a few days, at the outside, and in the interim, he needed to get word that the Queen was potentially in a lot of danger.

Walsingham was delighted, and Q waited – with ever increasing levels of anxiety – for word.

He did not expect his lover-turned-traitor to show up  _in person_.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Let me explain.”

Q was tight-jawed, utterly  _livid_ , and didn’t know what to do with himself when Bond was standing in front of him with an almost-pleading expression. “I don’t believe this,” Q murmured. “You’re… you’ve turned traitor.”

Bond shook his head slightly. “Q,  _please_  let me explain properly. This isn’t for… there are  _reasons_ , good reasons. Just hear me out.”

Q just stared at him, watching with an absolutely stony expression.

He moved to the door, looking out, moving them to the far corner with a bar holding the door shut. “Talk,” he said, in a flint-hard voice. “Make it good.”

Bond talked.

-

When Walsingham searched in the morning for his young code-breaker, the boy had vanished.


	482. Chapter 482

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love your works! I was watching smth on discovery ch about things getting blown up and it got me thinking..F1 AU for 00q? Where Bond is legendary racer, who survived multiple horrendous explosions, accidents, etc. and Q is his mechanic. May be guilty Q after another accident or Q wanting Bond to retire because he can’t witness another explosion with Bond in it. Thanks! - ducduc

Q looked very tired.

It wasn’t in a way that boded well, or promised to be transitory. Q look tired in a way that sank into body and blood and heart and soul, and lived somewhere in every glance he cast Bond.

“What is it?” Bond asked, helmet over his head, preparing his mind and body for the next race.

The previous had been a disaster. Bond had come terrifyingly close to losing life and/or limb, and he was acutely aware of that fact. He had scraped through with bruises and cuts and a severe knock to his confidence, but was remarkably alive and remarkably well, as it happened. He had no idea how.

Q certainly didn’t know how. Didn’t know, and was thus terrified that the honeymoon period would end, and Bond would – quite simply – die.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” he murmured, quietly.

The pair were close friends. They had always been thus; ever since the early days of Bond on the track, Q had been there as his mechanic and friend, they shared drinks, stories, lives, a bed on one occasion and dinner on very many more, and were not  _quite_ dating but were inches away from it if they were being honest with one another.

Bond blinked, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked, a little slowly.

Q shrugged, spasmodic. “You’re going to die one of these days,” he stated, with worrying accuracy. “You’re really good, James, but this… all of it, it’s not going to be possible forever. It’s going to kill you.”

Bond grinned, as charmingly as he was able. “You worry too much,” he said confidently, calmly.

“I don’t,” Q told him straight back, without missing a beat, voice a little sharp around the edges. “I mean  _fuck_ , James. I do  _not_  worry ‘too much’. I worry just the right bloody amount, you’re in an industry that is probably going to kill you, and I…”

“Yes?” Bond asked, voice abruptly quiet. “You what?”

Q looked at him, steady, unflinching, almost trembling. “You know,” he returned. “Don’t do that. Don’t play that kind of game. You know.”

There was nothing more to be said, and so Q didn’t say another word.

He returned his attention to the car, Bond’s attention to the race, and tried to pretend.

Quiet, for a very long while.

“This is all I know.”

Q paused. He didn’t look around. He just stayed still a moment, as though the moment could shatter if he touched it, acknowledged it.

“There’s a lot more to see,” he replied slowly, with utmost care.

Before either of them said anything further, before it went further than either could cope with in that moment, Q simply left.


	483. Chapter 483

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a silly prompt I think. Bond and Q are sitting on their couch watching a movie staring Daniel Craig and Q gets all fangirl saying how hot he is and how much James looks like him, when they are having sexy time he calls out Daniels name instead of James’ name. some angst , maybe more if you could or want and fluff for the little bunnies out there . – anon

It was fair to say that Bond was getting a touch insecure.

Q was a very beautiful man. Very, very beautiful indeed, and Bond was getting older by the way in a way that he was not overly fond of – and Q was  _not_. Q was remaining looking young and beautiful, and his intelligence was more than evident, and there was consequently something horrendous about listening to Q enthuse wildly and delightedly about some creature called Daniel Craig while Bond remained very still indeed and tried not to think too hard about anything.

When the film was over, Bond was ridiculously grateful to find Q adhered to him regardless. Apparently, Daniel Craig’s abdomen and face notwithstanding, Bond still won out  _and anyway_ , as Q kept telling him,  _I only like him because you look like you were separated at birth_.

Bond’s breath caught, and he kissed with simple want; Q kissed back, smiling against him, and his hands trailed and Bond laughed and they migrated to the bedroom with tangible urgency.

Soft noises, breathy forms of exhales and murmurs, soft keens and louder cries; hands and lips and tongue and cock, feeling, exploring – and all shattered in a single heartbeat, when Q said a name that very much was  _not_  Bond’s.

“ _Daniel_.”

Bond stopped.

Q’s eyes widened. “I didn’t… James, I…”

Bond moved back, slowly, almost disbelievingly, unsure of what had just happened but painfully aware that he did  _not_  like it. “What did you just call me?” he asked quietly, as Q gaped like a fish out of water. “Fuck.  _Fuck_.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“It’s not… it’s not anything, really, it was just on my mind after the film, and…”

“And you  _noticed_  I wasn’t exactly happy.”

“Please. Don’t take it to heart.”

“How do you  _expect me_  to react?!”

Quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Q murmured, reaching out, hands loose. “I… I don’t know what to say. Really, James, I’m so sorry.”

Bond took a breath. Released it, very slowly. “Give me a minute,” he murmured, and slipped out of the room.


	484. Chapter 484

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every 00 gets his/her own Quartermaster. When a new one is added to the Q-branch ranks they go through a probationary period where every agent gets assigned to them on missions. At the end of the period the new Q is assigned to the 00 he matched with the best and they also take personal preference into account for the 00s. Of course, our Q matched with everyone very well and is requested by almost every 00 and they end up fighting over him without him knowing. 007 wins of course. – anon

It filled Q with no small degree of satisfaction.

The double-oh agents all had their own Quartermasters. It was the only realistic way to manage a working relationship; in a life-or-death scenario, the agent needed to trust somebody they had come to know and like, somebody they could work well with.

Four of the nine had Quartermasters already, and were intent on remaining settled. The others had Quartermasters but were content to keep scouting for others in case a better match presented itself – nobody really minded, it was expected that the agents should be aware of other options unless they were extremely settled – and 006/007 were currently without a Quartermaster after a death, and a resignation respectively. They were with provisionals for the time being.

‘Q’ himself had no real concerns. He just wanted a job, and was very happy with his promotion, quite frankly. He had been a provisional for a while, settled with the other agents from parallel branches. When 006’s handler died, Q was very nearly called up as a stand-in, but found out soon afterwards that they actually wanted to promote him up to a full-timer in the double-oh unit.

Everybody adored him.

Two of the four with established Quartermasters actually tried a probationary period just out of interest, and everybody who tested requested him. It was something of a record.

Q just sat back. He already knew who he would wind up with, and was frankly delighted by the prospect.

Bond was ready to do whatever was needed to get Q as his new Quartermaster. Boothroyd had been brilliant, but this young man was truly exceptional; sharp and witty, intelligent beyond comprehension, and a very good Quartermaster indeed.

They met in an art gallery, because Q was just that pretentious. “I’m your new Quartermaster,” Q said calmly, simply. “I look forward to working with you. Now, I have some aspects to organise concerning your imminent departure to Shanghai…”


	485. Chapter 485

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay because I’m in a mood and reasons can I request a 00q where Bond wants to commit suicide because he can’t face retirement and Q helps him? – madwriterscorner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extreme trigger warnings, boys and girls. Jen.

After an eternity spent in motion, it is agonisingly difficult to find a close; to be drawn out into a world that you know nothing of, on the whim of a body that is falling away from you.

Bond was falling. Had fallen. MI6 knew, and had discarded him like a doll that had outlived its limited span.

It was nothing too horrific; he was alive, he was technically ‘well’, in that awful clinical sense people have a tendency to ascribe. Bond was mentally intact, acutely and immediately, and knew everything and accepted everything and knew what he needed to do.

“You know what I’m going to ask,” Bond said one morning, very quietly, very simply.

Q was facing the wall, kettle boiling. He didn’t speak for a little while. The kettle boiled. Tea steeped. Q was utterly silent, as was Bond.

They sat by one another in their accustomed places at the dining table. “I don’t want to become something I’m not,” Bond explained gently. “I don’t want to lose that.”

“And I don’t want to lose you,” Q parried.

It spoke volumes that on an innocuous Tuesday morning, with nothing to really precede it, Q already knew precisely what Bond was grasping at. It was immediately telling, that Q’s hands didn’t shake and his gaze was steady, and Bond watched him in return. “Don’t ask me to lose it,” Bond murmured, and it honestly  _was_  a question.

Q had the chance to say no. He had no doubt that Bond would diligently keep on going, would stay for Q’s sake because he loved Q enough, he loved Q enough to contradict everything he knew to be true about himself, about what he wanted.

A selfish, and  _rational_  part, knew that he should try. He should find therapy and coping strategies and all the noble and correct and intelligent courses of action, but this was  _James Bond_ , who faced psychiatrists with contempt and life with a general nonchalant smirk, and whom Q couldn’t imagine without a gun and an idea and a reckless disregard for everything.

He could choose, or he could wait it out until he died of some other means. The almost-compulsive need to defy common sense or orders, and head into the wide blue yonder to die in a way that was potentially painful, potentially lingering. Ways to die that were horrendous and painful and  _wrong_ , were an insult to the being that James Bond had always – would always – be.

“I want to stay with you,” Q stated, very simply. “It’s not… it’s not masochism, or the like. I just… I always hated the idea of you being alone. When it happened. And if… if you’re going to be so close, I’m not letting you be alone.”

Bond wouldn’t have refused him a damned thing. Not then.

Q’s hands were cold, enclosed in Bond’s, safe and calm and entirely without judgement.

“We’ll need to organise ourselves,” Q said, with as much control as he could muster, trying to keep calm. “I mean… when?”

An almost confused expression. The inability to understand how Q could understand. How he could accept. “I have a final mission,” Bond told him, stating things Q already, and now – only now – did Q’s hands start to shake. “After that, I think.”

Q’s breathing fractured.

Bond held onto him, and everything was falling.

Everything was falling.


	486. Chapter 486

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt idea about something that’s always sort of confused me about Skyfall. Q is annoyed that he keeps getting roped into computer hacking for MI6, when he is supposed to be making new weapons and distributing supplies to his agents. This is so not his division, he’s the quartermaster for god’s sake! – gnol-gnol

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Mallory demanded as Q drank from his third mug of tea that morning. "Quartermaster, you are under my employ…"

"And I intend to do the job you hired me to do - create, build, program! Not bloody hacking the Japanese!" Q retorted, looking up through heavy lidded eyes to his superior. "If you wanted a hacker you should have kept Silva, I on the other hand have other things to be getting on with!"

"Be that as it may," Mallory flustered, looking at his admittedly overworked Quartermaster. "You are exceptionally skilled…"

"I’m exceptionally skilled, yes, but not all at the same time.”

“I…”

“I’m exceptionally skilled at a  _lot_  of things, but you don’t see me playing piano concertos, doing sudoko, programming algorithms and fellating a well hung gentleman simultaneously - do you?”

Mallory never asked again.


	487. Chapter 487

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do one where whenever Q is in the dark he turns into a little kid? You can go wherever with it :) – anon

They had sex with the light on, Q slept with the light on. It was a truth that Bond didn’t question; everyone who worked for MI6 had their fears, and god knew he couldn’t judge. Bond had channelled his own fears into spiders, given that he didn’t have the luxury of anything else.

It was only during a power cut did Bond learn the real reason for his partner’s insistence on constant light.

Storms had raged across the South East, knocking over fences, trees and decimating the national grid. Q had been sat on the sofa at his laptop as Bond washed up, thunder crashing outside the window, when darkness abruptly descended.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Bond rolled his eyes in irritation, reaching for his phone; as he did so, he heard a small, stifled cry. It was high pitched, and had come – oddly – from the direction of his lover.

"Q?" Bond asked, moving over to the sofa, the coffee table deciding to launch a vendetta against his shins in the process. "Are you alright?"

Another muffled noise, though this one more of a sob than a word. Bond moved closer, shining the light from his phone onto the other man: in the mostly-darkness, he could just about make out a small shape, no larger than perhaps a ten year old, sat curled in Q’s jumper. A wild mess of curls peeked out, along with large glasses that were falling off a slim face. A young face, but still distinctly recognisable.

_"Q?"_  Bond breathed, unable to quite believe what he was seeing.

Q’s green eye darted up to look at him from over his knees, before burying himself once again. “Q, what…” he began, with infinite questions bubbling on his tongue.

Q suddenly sobbed again, holding his knees tightly as lightening flashed across the room, illuminating his tiny form; the thunder, an instant later, sparked a plaintive and desperate cry.  Questions, Bond decided, could wait.

He moved over, grabbing Q into a tight hug as the boy cried and cried as the storm raged. “Thunder…” Q murmured, clutching Bond’s chest with tiny hands. “Please, I don’t, I don’t like…”

Bond murmured soft nothings, held him, the entire situation surreal beyond measure; Q nodded in his arms as Bond coaxed  _I’ve got you, it’s alright_ , the boy’s heartbeat fluttering against him and body trembling.

Tears were dripping through Bond’s shirt, onto his shoulder, Bond rocking the boy gently as the rain pelted against the window.

The power returned in a single, blinding moment. Light flooded the room, and Bond found himself holding his twenty-seven-year-old lover once more. He was curled in precisely the same position as the boy had been, hands still grasping at Bond’s shirt, tears still damp on his face.

Neither spoke.

Q looked at his partner with a look of fearful shock. “I…” he began eventually, but ran out of words. A sharp swallow. “Experiment. My brother. I don’t know why - there’s never been a cure, I just… In darkness.”

Bond breathed deeply, holding tightly onto Q’s body. “How long?” he asked, trying to take in the new information.

"When I was nine," Q answered. "I am so sorry, I couldn’t tell you, I was just worried you’d… I’m, I’m not…"

Q’s panic was tangible; Bond held onto him tightly, and quite immediately told him it would be alright. Yes, more information would be needed (without doubt). Yes, this made nearly no sense, and was making Bond distantly wonder if he had been drugged.

Either way – it changed surprisingly little.

It would be alright.


	488. Chapter 488

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think your fills are beautiful and awesome. :D I would like to request one where Bond is King and he has a royal right to sleep with anyone he wants. He chooses Q for the evening, a servant, who is reluctantly deposited in the King’s bedroom. It takes a few evenings of seduction and petting before they get to doing it on the royal sheets. – badwolfbadwolf

Q was numb. Utterly numb. His body had reached a state of apathy that he simply didn’t know what to do with.

King James had chosen him as his given partner for the evening. It was a compliment, certainly, and many would be jealous – but Q, quite certainly, was not. He didn’t want to be a whore. He was a servant, and not even one with any true authority, but he did have  _some_  pride.

Bond entered to find his chosen one sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, looking at his feet, tangibly unhappy.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bond told him kindly.

Q’s head snapped up. His eyes were laced with distrust, enough to make Bond feel slightly pitying, something close to guilty. “You…” Q cut off in an instant, before he said something he would truly regret.

Bond could fill in the rest without needing to: he had chosen Q arbitrarily, without consent, without reciprocity. Q was expected to please him in any and all respects, and could do nothing in his own favour.

The situation was immoral, but Bond was not cruel by nature.

He reached for a carafe of wine, pouring them both a glass; Q accepted, the mistrust deepening, as Bond lay back on his bed with his feet propped up. “Sit down,” he offered, nodding at the end of the bed. “Is there anything you’d like?”

Q blinked.

There were  _many_  things he would like.

“No,” he said simply, and took a sip of his wine bravely.

Bond smiled slightly. “What’s your name?” he asked, tone light, sipping at his own drink and watching Q with compelling intensity. “I understand you’re known as Q…”

“I don’t have a name,” Q interjected quickly. “I’m just Q. If that’s alright, sir.”

“James,” Bond corrected lightly. “James will do quite nicely. I would like to explain: I asked for your presence because you are very beautiful, and also intelligent. I’ve seen you. You’re resourceful, practical. Word spreads, Q. I would like company, first and foremost. Perhaps that will expand into something further, perhaps not, but I would never wish to force you. It’s been true of all those who have entered this room – I will do anything you don’t want.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “You mean that?” he asked, a little dryly.

“Speak to anybody who’s been in here,” Bond replied easily. “Eve, for example. We’ve been intimate in some regards, but she had no interest in sex. We are still friends, I hope she would agree, but there has been nothing further.”

It was tempting, very tempting, to believe him. Q made a mental note to find Eve in the morning. “Okay,” he acceded, with little choice but to believe. “I can work with that. Thank you, sir.”

“James,” Bond corrected, smile broader.

“James,” Q agreed, and couldn’t quite help the smile he returned.


	489. Chapter 489

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q goes undercover at a university to get close to terrorist students. Bond doest know until he gets back from mission. bond is amused. and goes in as a sub for one of the classes (military history? knowledgeable) Maybe Q-branch monitoring finding out Q gets turned on by Bond teaching and start taking bets? -Pre-relationship, bickering, each trying to one-up the other(?), Cute, NSFW. —-psst. love you ! – kitkatz221

Q-branch monitors abruptly went  _off the scale_.

“Erm,” one of the minions mumbled. “Is this supposed to be happening?!”

A few came over, raising eyebrows, heads tilting to one side. R loaded it onto her own screens, and her mouth fell open slightly. “No, not as such,” she said quietly, and loaded up the video screen, trying to understand why Q’s heart, blood pressure and temperature readings had  _all_  just spiked.

Q was sitting in the university, in a seat, quite happily. “Equipment malfunction?” she queried; one of the quieter minions, a man who never ever spoke, raised an eyebrow of sheer contempt.

Everybody turned back.

R noticed very abruptly.

Along with the other minions, actually; in a moment or two, the entire collection were all but  _cackling_  with laughter.

James Bond was in there as a substitute teacher. Really, he hadn’t been expected on this mission; MI6 had deployed him last-minute to give Q protection and backup, and hadn’t actually told the man yet.

Naturally, it was something of a shock.

However, the persistent nature – and R’s zooming in – quite amply demonstrated that the interest did  _not_  simply stretch to his surprise at Bond’s actual presence. That had already spiked at the beginning of the class, anyway.

No.

Q was attempting – and failing – to hide a raging erection.

“Kink, or attraction?” one of the minions asked, almost absentmindedly, but with a latent wickedness in her tone that boded somewhat hilariously. “Bet it’s a kink. Q’s probably a demon in bed.”

R snorted. “He’s been keen on Bond for ages,” she contradicted easily. “You can see it. Bond likes him too, I’m betting.”

“I’ll take that bet,” the minion laughed. “Ten quid says it doesn’t come to anything.”

Which, of course, started a full better pool – everybody’s time ranges came between two hours to two weeks to three months, and a handful who thought it would never really happen; it was a fair assumption, and everybody eagerly waited and watched to see.

A minion called Tosh won.

She pocketed nearly four hundred quid, actually.

Three weeks, and it turned out – at which point Q-branch had turned off  _all_  monitors and attempted to scour their retinas – that it was  _also_  a kink. Which Tosh had actually hypothesised.

She giggled, and everybody swore not to tell Q or Bond a single word.


	490. Chapter 490

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he becomes quartermaster, Q stumbles across a young orphan who has hacked into the government’s network in an attempt to find his/her birth certificate and identify his/her parents. Feeling a connection to the computer genius and a pity for the orphan, he TAKES in rather than TURNING in the child. As quartermaster he keeps it secret, and very few people know he’s a single father. Could be a meeting-the-kid fic or a Bond-finding-out-Q-has-a-kid fic. Or whatever. I’d be happy with anything. – anon

Xiang Li – known as Li, to Q – was brilliant. Truly, honestly brilliant, in the rawest sense of the word; a young Chinese girl, with parents who had died a long while ago, and had spent a long while trying to trace how and why – to find who they were.

The family were known to MI6. Li’s parents had been antagonists in a conflict a long while previously, and the child filtered into social services – now, twelve years later, a barely-teenage girl had resolved to find everything she could. More impressively, she had near enough succeeded.

Q was fascinated. Adopting her was simple; he hacked the social service databases to fast-track his application in one of the most spectacularly amoral pieces of work he had done to date, and offered the girl a home.

Nobody knew, and that was quite alright. Nobody exactly  _needed_  to know. Q lied outright, told Q-branch the hacker had disappeared, and quietly fostered Li’s latent computer and maths talents.

“I have a daughter.”

Bond’s expression remained completely and utterly impassive. “I didn’t expect that,” he returned, with a shadow of humour. “Well. Alright, then. How old?”

Q didn’t really know what to do with that response; he had expected a far more virulent response, possibly disbelief, and had actually slightly fired himself for a bit of an argument with Bond over the subject – only to find that Bond didn’t care in the slightest.

He actually felt relatively deflated, before the relief surged with shocking force. “Fifteen in a week,” he told Bond simply. “She actually… well, I’ve told her about you, obviously. She’s ridiculously excited about meeting you, but will deny it until her dying day. Teenage. A little defensive, and will probably act impassive, and oh god, sorry, her name’s Li. She’s brilliant, truly brilliant. I adopted her, actually.”

Bond blinked slightly, quietly amused at the babble of information, smiling lightly as Q all but bubbled over with sheer enthusiasm, sheer joy as he spoke of his daughter. “I look forward to meeting her,” he agreed lightly. “Any ideas as to when?”

“Well,” Q admitted. “I’d quite like you to meet her asap, given that it’s her birthday and everything next week. Would that be alright? Or do you need longer to, sort of, adapt to the general information.”

Bond smirked. “Adapting is easier when you know what you’re adapting to,” he grinned. “I’d love to meet her. I’m free for a while actually, given my enforced leave…”

Q grimaced vaguely; Bond had been an absolute  _nightmare_  through his leave period, as he always was. This would, mercifully, come as something of a distraction. “I’ll let her know. Tonight? You could come for dinner. She’s a brilliant cook. I’m not.”

“I can believe that,” Bond teased; Q playfully whacked him with a nearly sheaf of paper. “Tonight, then. Brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Q told him, a little quieter now, a very honest statement.

Bond just kissed him. “Thank you for telling me,” he returned, and Q simply smiled.


	491. Chapter 491

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I have just seen GoldenEye, could you please do a prompt based on the line “James and I shared everything” can involve Q or another character – madwriterscorner

Alec’s expression was stony, and utterly, terrifyingly angry.

Bond just watched him, spine tingling with anticipation and preparation; Alec looked on the verge of attack and – quite honestly – Bond couldn’t really blame him.

“You bastard,” he said quietly, very quietly.

A heartbeat of quiet. “I couldn’t tell you…”

Alec’s eyebrow raised sharply, expression still burningly livid.

“I wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” Bond told him, tone vaguely pleading for one of the only times in his life; Alec had been his closest friend, confidante, for as long as both could remember. They had known one another, been  _everything_. “Alec, this doesn’t change..”

“It fucking changes a lot,” Alec returned, before Bond could finish the sentence. “James, I really fucking thought better of you.”

Bond breathed out quietly, slowly. “It’s not like we’ve ever been monogamous,” he said, with an intentional sting.

Alec leaned back slightly, a flicker of amusement. “No,” he murmured. “But I would have liked to know that you’re fucking a mutual friend. And our Quartermaster. Stunningly professional, James, I applaud you.”

A black, furious snarl. “You’re not a perfect example of professionalism yourself.”

It stood a very serious of chance of escalating, extremely quickly, extremely nastily. Two extremely well-trained agents in the same room together, arguing; the same had occurred after a love affair between a double-oh and another junior agent, and there had broken bones on both sides.

“Could you both calm down?” a voice enquired calmly from the doorway.

Bond and Alec turned in unison. Alec looked inches away from punching his once-friend, while Bond watched Q with something like fear; this was an extremely dangerous environment to be entering. “Hello Q,” Alec told him, with worrying politeness.

“Hello,” he replied, quite calmly. “Trevelyan – please. This is absurd. Myself and Bond have indeed formed a relationship, but it is of little concern at present. I ordered him, as a superior, to keep our fledging relationship quiet due to the admittedly questionable nature of such an affair.”

Alec’s eyes darted to Bond. “Fine,” he murmured, quietly diffusing. “Fuck, though. Both of you. I wasn’t exactly going to publish it on the bloody Internet.”

“I know,” Q told him, still calm, still careful. “It’s merely a case of doing some things by the book. I have that responsibility, despite the admitted discomfort on occasion. I’d like to go out for drinks at some stage, to discuss this properly, but I’m afraid I need you both for a briefing.”

“Both?” they asked, in near-enough unison.

Q smiled faintly. “A joint mission,” he explained lightly. “Come come.”


	492. Chapter 492

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I’m feeling like angst today. Bond is caught and psychologically tortured; they have Q’s voice in recording, which they have manipulated to scream and beg, and make him think that Q really is being tortured in the other cell. Then, to try to really break Bond, they drop bloody, broken glasses identical to Q’s in front of him and a jar holding a pair of eyes the same shade as Q’s. Bond snaps. Just to reiterate; Q is actually still at HQ frantically hunting James down. Care to cater to my angsty needs? - rummyrage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture.

losing his mind  _pleasenono **please** I’msorrypleasenoscreamingdon’tstopfuck **fuck** sobbingJames **Jamesplease** Ican’tIcan’thitchingbreathplease_and nothing making sense any more, nothing  _strangledgaspretchingpleasepleaseno_ head spinning and bile trickling over tongue and not Q not Q  _Jamesplease_  it couldn’t be Q  _screamingretchingpleasesobbingpleaseplease **James** please **no** helpme_ no motion no anything stalling and stopping and quiet so quiet too quiet  _softsoundswhimpering_  alive please god alive  _helpme_  close enough to touch but not close enough not quite close enough

door slamming losing  _silence_  open skittering eyes open skittering stopping broken glass _nonononono_  mangled red and brown and plastic shining red sharp edged glass _you **can’t** please_ quiet drip smeared lens clouded _notthat **please** screamingyoucan’tyoucan’t **nono** screaming **screaming**_

Silence

Silence

Silence

door slamming single jar two objects spinning green green no fuck fuck retching spinning green bright green losing his mind lost his mind gone fuck no no Q not Q no _sobbingjustsobbingjustsobbing_  not this not this not Q not this please fuck no not this not to him not to him Tell Us What We Want To Hear not Q please let me see him let me please fuck please Q please  _screamingsobbingretchingscreaming_  sorry so sorry so sorry door no don’t touch him don’t you touch him you bastards  _James_  I’m coming I’m coming what do you want tell me what you want Tell Us What We Want To Hear _James **helpme** screamingJames **screaming**_  Don’t Make Me Ask Again so sorry Q so sorry so sorry so sorry

telling stories not own stories just any stories Thank You Mr Bond that stop the _screamingJames **please** painpainscreamingretchingpleaseJames **nono** Jameshelpme_ and it does it does if only for an instant because he can still hear _sobbingsobbingsobbingJamessobbing_  but everything else is gone just for a moment just for an instant let me see him let me see him let me That Is All For Now let me see him Q Q so sorry Q so sorry

James.

James, listen.

James, listen to me.

James, listen to me, you have to listen.

James, listen to me, you have to listen, it’s me.

James, listen to me, you have go listen, it’s me, it’s Q.


	493. Chapter 493

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read “Young and Beautiful” earlier on (loved it despite the feels) & just realised now that one of my fav songs applies to it (I think anyways). “Love Like This” by Kodaline, just in case you wanted to listen. Deceivingy upbeat. Great writing btw! :) – ash-og

It was never going to last.

Mercifully, they went into the strange little thing they half-called a relationship safe in that knowledge. It made everything infinitely easier.

The best part was that they could just allow matters to  _be_. They fucked like rabbits on any and every given surface available, and there were minimal consequences; a dash of them, but enough so as to be irrelevant.

Bond cared more than Q did.

Both of them knew that, actually. Q made no apologies about the fact that he was young, and wanted a life that had no ties – but ultimately, was a young man with a sex drive and the desire to not be entirely alone.

Initially, Bond didn’t want anything either. Experience and bitterness and pain had conspired to make him hell-bent on being alone, and found Q a form of kindred spirit for a fairly long while.

Except time passed, trickled, and Bond found that protracted periods of time in the company of a human being like Q was rather infectious. The man made him smile. Laugh, on occasion. Spectacularly intelligent. Just his type, if he was entirely honest about it all, just without the usual air of transparent sexuality that most of his partners possessed.

He didn’t miss it. Q was new. It was nice, to have something new.

MI6 watched them, smiled and petted Q – patronising bastards – and fostered a quiet adoration for their little relationship. Bond and Q seemed happy, and it was gorgeous to have a couple who were together and stable and would not compromise national security (or so they believed).

Unsurprisingly, Q ended it.

Unsurprisingly, Bond seemed to have absolutely no problem with that.

Far more surprising was the fact that he  _did_.

Two months, and a quiet question.

Q looked at him with something like sympathy – a dreadful emotion, in the context – and was very polite about it all. Inoffensive, firm: it had always been a relationship with a sell-by date. Bond had  _known_  that.

“And if I’ve changed my mind?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I need to work, Bond. Please close the door on your way out.”

Bond waited for a handful of heartbeats, and walked out.


	494. Chapter 494

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I love your fics! Just wondering if you wouldn’t mind writing something where Alec is secretly Q’s protective older brother and what would go down if he found out that James is dating his little bother. Thanks! – anon

Alec looked like all hell had broken loose, and was now roaring frantically at high volume; expression literally murderous, and all of it directed at James Bond.

Bond raised an eyebrow.

“You’re dating my brother.”

A moment of quiet.

“I’m dating Q,” Bond corrected, looking mildly confused. “I was going to tell you. Definitely not your… you have a  _brother_?!”

Alec’s lip curled back, teeth bared. “ _Q is my brother_.”

For a ridiculous second, Bond was inches away from giggling. It was absurd. It was a completely absurd concept. “Okay,” he said slowly, humouring. “Q. I’ve known you for most of our lives, and it transpired that  _not only_  do you have a sibling, that sibling is our Quartermaster. Superb.”

“He’s a lot younger than me, we grew up separately – he was only a baby when our parents died,” Alec hissed. “I was then in the bloody  _secret service_. You have your secrets, James, and he’s mine. And you’re  _fucking him_.”

Bond was still struggling to wrap his mind around the concept, which was, of course, the moment that Alec flew at him.

Instinct won out: the pair had fought – in training, play, actual situations – for as long as they could both remember. Bond tried not to think in the slightest, and just kept on working until Alec was pinned. Apparently, he was genuinely emotional; they were almost always evenly matched to the last, but it took Bond only a handful of minutes to have Alec disarmed and static.

“Explain?!”

“You do  _not_  fuck my brother,” Alec yelled. “That’s a  _basic_  quirk of manners. You do not fuck your friend’s baby brother.”

“I didn’t exactly  _know_ , did I?!” Bond yelled straight back.

Alec relaxed. Bond held on; the man had a habit of feinting. “Alright,” Alec snapped, reluctantly. “Alright. I get it. But fuck, James, if you hurt him I will break every single bone in your body.”

Bond let him go, very slowly indeed. “I will not hurt him. You have my word.”

A sharp nod. “Good,” Alec told him curtly. “And I let you beat me, there.”

Bond snorted, and was still laughing as Alec grinned, and lunged at him.


	495. Chapter 495

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: James has a secret guilty pleasure. Q comes home to him dancing around the kitchen in nothing but his boxers belting out a One Direction hit in time with the radio. Q of course, laughs hysterically and teases his partner constantly. xD ~AF

Bond never really had time off; as a rule, he remained at the very least on-duty, given that he had steadfastly ignored all rules about Time Off since he had first joined MI6.

With Q his partner, there had been an abrupt increase in the amount of time Bond  _did_ take off which – as a somewhat bizarre consequence – had led to an abrupt and impressive increase in the amount of popular culture Bond knew.

Q had honestly expected that Bond might have gotten hooked on Breaking Bad, or Doctor Who, or bloody Bargain Hunt at worst.

It was  _way_  better than that.

_Baby you light up my world like nobody else…_

To Q’s utter  _delight_ , Bond was dancing. And singing. And was fairly good at the former and horrendous at the latter and had a spoon in hand and was in his boxers and _gorgeous_ , and Q watched – speechless – for a good few minutes.

The moment he noticed, Bond let out something resembling a shriek, and dropped his wooden spoon.

No matter how suave Bond may or may not have been, there was no good way of redeeming the situation – and so, Bond didn’t even vaguely try.

He pulled Q in, and just continued dancing. “Eggs?” he asked, proffering the spoon; Q looked at it, eyebrow crooking, and happily accepted a mouthful.  _You don’t kno-o-ow_.

Q mockingly sang along; he had always liked One Direction, only he had no reputation to uphold. Q-branch had caught him singing Disney songs, R knew he watched porn in his office, M knew he would sell his soul for hot chocolate on days off, and he made no apologies for loathing martinis and commenting on fashion. He simply didn’t seem to notice, let alone care, about social machinations.

Bond did.

One Direction didn’t  _quite_  fit the idea of himself that Bond wanted to uphold.

It was actually surprisingly, wonderfully  _nice_  to see Bond just not care for a bit. Let go and enjoy, be a little bit of an idiot and feed eggs off a spoon and grin like a maniac for no discernible reason.

“Muffin?”

Q nodded, headed to the toaster; in a move of cosmic incredulity, the toaster popped literally as he reached over to it.

Bond winked,  _Oh-oh-oh_.

Q smiled, kissed him gently.  _That’s what makes you beautiful_.


	496. Chapter 496

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! =D I’m one of your many lurkers who found a prompt I can’t resist but to ask. :) Saw a blog about ID tags from entangledwood with Kryptaria’s comment about it being useful to the 00Q fandom. And I completely agree. ^_^ I myself have been thinking about it, even before I saw that blog. So, can you please create a fic about Bond’s Navy ID tag? Giving it to Q perhaps? A sign of devotion? Dunno, get creative please? Something fluffy and sweet. :D Thank you for indulging this fan. ^_^ - azinine

Bond didn’t often talk about the Navy, and Q had never really asked. They were creatures of the present: no past – no name in Q’s case – and for Bond, well. His time in the Navy was an echo of somebody he no longer was, and it felt a little odd to try and doggedly preserve or even remember something that had so easily died.

He had a box, as many did; a few important documents, his uniform, pictures.

Q looked through it with a strange sense of reverance. It felt like going through the belongings of a dead man, rather than his partner.

Bond sat beside him silently, watching as Q thumbed through; Bond in full dress, some kind of award. Early twenties perhaps, slightly younger than Q himself. “Just after I joined up,” Bond murmured.

“You look good,” Q nodded, studying the familiar face that was ever so slightly alien.

Bond chuckled slightly. “And I don’t now?” he teased, as Q rolled his eyes.

"I just mean you don’t normally show me pictures! If it helps you have certainly improved with age - I mean," he gestured wildly, as Bond continued laughing. "Look at that hair cut… and is that a piercing?!"

"I was very young," Bond replied as Q joined him in laughing, photo forgotten. "Very, _very_  young.”

They laughed for a handful of moments, letting it die back, a curious form of quiet settling. “Why now?” Q asked slowly, glancing up at Bond with gentle curiosity. “Feeling nostalgic?”

Bond shrugged slightly, holding onto Q, arms in a loose knot. “After Brussels…”

"You’re alright now," Q interrupted with a form of urgency, still very much unwilling to dwell on the previous month’s rather abortive mission. “You…”

“I might not have been,” Bond returned, before Q could finish.

Q remained silent as he collected his thoughts. Part of what he loved in his partner was the lack of questions, of complications, of living in the present moment. Introspection was rarely a sought-after MI6 trait. “And had I have died, properly died,” Bond continued, sending Q a small smile that was returned in kind. “You would have known less about me that I would like. Nothing. I don’t…”

His voice tailed off slightly, searching for the correct phrasing; Q squeezed Bond’s hand lightly, waited. “I don’t talk about it, we don’t. I know that. I will die as double-oh seven, and you will die as Q. That’s who we are. I don’t regret it – but I am aware of it. I forget who I was a lot of the time, now. But…”

"But?" Q prompted kindly after a moment, Bond delving into realms of reflection Q didn’t quite recognise in him.

Bond graced him with a light smile. “I met someone that I wanted a future with, as well as now,” Bond explained, with surprising lightness. “I’d like you to know more than just… double-oh seven. You already do, obviously, but it’s just something more.”

The ID tags slid into Q’s palm, cold, edged, a history that Bond was giving him to look after. “Thank you,” Q said softly, sincerely, and closed his fingers around in a fist, letting warmth seep into the metal.


	497. Chapter 497

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need some angst in my life. I have read prompts where either Q or James hears how the other dies through an earpiece. Here is the thing. Now is 006 who is dying. Q is there in his earpiece. Bond arrives to Q-branch, looks at Q and hears Alec’s last words. – anon

“Bond, over here.”

Q looked quiet and unhappy and tense, in the strung-out way he often did when everything was falling apart around his ears and he had no idea how to deal with any of it. Which meant he dealt with it by  _not_  dealing with it, and sublimated everything until Bond coaxed it out.

Bond raised an eyebrow, already harbouring a quiet idea of what it may be. “Trevelyan?” he asked quietly; Q’s expression closed even further, and it was confirmation enough.

Of course, his response was understated and quiet. It had to be. Bond was somewhat renowned for not requiring the emotional aspect of matters, and while Alec was his closest friend – and always, would always be his closest friend – Q had asked him there for a reason, and that reason was  _not_  to allow emotion to overwhelm.

“Alec?”

“Fuck off,” Alec’s slurred voice returned. “Q, you said you wouldn’t.”

“I lied. As I understand, that’s part of my job description,” Q parried, with a lightness that no other part of him could mimic. “You want him here, you idiot. Bond is an objectionable wanker…”

A small, weak laugh. “You’re dating him.”

“It does not change how objectionable he is.”

Bond snorted, and Alec went a little quieter. “Alec. What in the blazes have you done to yourself?”

“Gunshot. Blood everywhere. S’fucking cold.”

Bond laughed, eyes cold and dead, snapped and locked with Q’s, the veneer absolutely perfect. “You’re  _Russian_.”

Alec’s laugh was quieter, a touch gurgling. “And?” he mumbled, before sighing. “James, do me a favour.”

Q’s expression mutated into something unrecognisable, nameless, and Bond’s tension ramped up another notch. “Yes?”

“I’m dying. Please don’t fuck about pretending it’s alright,” he said, a little blurrily, coughing wetly. “It’s not. It hurts like fuck, and I don’t want to die with syc… syco…”

“Sycophants,” Q supplemented quietly, voice betraying very little, as little as he could but he was breaking a little around the edges, just around the edges, and tried immensely hard. “Fuck. You know I’m shit at this, Trevelyan.”

Bond and Alec practically rolled their eyes in unison. “ _Alec_.”

Alec’s laugh was almost pathetic, very nearly non-existent.

It stopped halfway, trailed out into nothing.

Utter silence.

“Shit,” Q breathed, on a catch. “That was it. That was  _it_. I…”

Bond walked away, fast and frantic, and Q didn’t follow.

He listened to breaking glass, and tried not to think.


	498. Chapter 498

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got a fluffy 00Q prompt. I want to see Bond hand feed Q fruit and sweets and rice balls and generally indulge him. I don’t mind if it ends up as nsfw. Thanks! – anon

"I don’t  _care_ , I am  _not_  resting them, not for a bloody week!” Q raged, as Bond all but held him to the sofa, expression calm and vaguely amused. “Repetitive strain my _arse_ …”

Bond grinned wolfishly. “Sounds like a challenge,” he told Q lightly; Q paused in struggling to give him a sardonic stare, intense and livid and attempting to be forceful.

"Look, I can’t just not use my hands, it’s ridiculous," he continued, finally settling on the sofa as Bond all but sat on him to keep him in place. "It’s my  _work_ , James.”

Bond sighed, shifting so that Q could curl up on him, draping in a way only he could manage: taking up most available space, and still managing to have limbs overlapping to dangle in space. “I know,” he placated. “But – you are due some leave, and if we take it now, it will be less of an issue later on. So no typing, no exercises, no exertion…”

"… no wanking…”

"Good thing you have me then, isn’t it?" Bond mocked, as he extracted a slight smirk.

"To obey my every whim?" Q asked lightly.

Bond kissed his temple, voice a low purr. “Mmn, something like that.”

Q looked to his snack, a plate of fruit with a few biscuits. “So Mr Bond, I am in your hands,” he nodded to the food as Bond chuckled.

"Laziness doesn’t become you," he commented, ducking out of reach of Q’s swatting hands and reaching for the food. "Open.”

Slowly, Bond picked up a piece of apple and placed it between Q’s lips. The whole effect was rather ruined by Q giggling and half biting Bond’s finger off. War was then declared, with Bond all but areoplaning food into his lover’s mouth, sex appeal forgotten as Q nearly choked.

After a few minutes, the pair calmed; Q allowed Bond to place the food gently into his mouth, sucking the man’s fingers as he extracted them.

"So Mr Bond," Q murmured, as he finished the last of the fruit. "You are doing _everything_  for me, are you?”

Bond’s expression turned mercilessly predatory. “Doctor’s orders,” Bond nodded, hand lowering down Q’s body.

Q’s eyes widened, and he let out a soft, unapologetic  _moan_.


	499. Chapter 499

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am definitely addictet to your works! This is my prompt: After finishing the mission, exhausted, he goes home, gets in the bed (nevermind blood and dirty clothes) and spoons lean body that sleeps peacefully. Something is wrong. This moment Q emerges from the ensuite. – anon

“Fuck.”

Bond blinked, did a shocked double-take, flinched back, somebody started screaming, Bond reached for his gun, somebody else started yelling, and Bond very nearly went into shock because the mission had been shitty enough without this erupting the moment he walked through his own front door.

A gunshot.

Absolute silence.

“James,” Q’s voice said softly, with surprising calm, with laced shock. “James, listen to me. He’s a friend. A friend. I’m not cheating, I’m not… James, please. Look at me.”

Slowly, very slowly, Bond swivelled around.

“Thank you,” Q continued, still slow, still gentle. “It’s alright. I wouldn’t do anything like that to you, James, you know that. Definitely not when I know you’re nearly done on a mission and could be home any minute. Just, calm down.”

The younger man – younger than Q, even – looked somewhere beyond terrified and into the realms of the soon-to-be-violently-unwell.

There was a bullet-hole in the doorframe, about an inch from Q’s head. He hadn’t so much as flinched. In fact, he had stayed remarkably, impressively still for the duration; he was used to Bond and the surges of anger, the post-mission adrenaline that could blow all sensible reactions out of the water. “Ben, stay extremely still,” Q told him slowly, calmly. “James. Please, just listen for a moment. Ben is a friend, I’ve known him for a very long time.”

“You’re in the same bed.”

“Ben has his reasons, but he needed somebody close,” Q explained simply. “That’s all. Of all people, you can understand that. I won’t tell secrets that aren’t my own, but believe me when I say it’s better that he had somebody close to look after him.”

Which was the moment Ben threw up, violently, over the side of the bed.

Q watched with horror, with pity. “James, please,” he asked softly.

Bond just nodded once, sharply; Q was moving to Ben’s side, helping him up, coaxing quietly while the other man tried not to have a complete breakdown he has a gun, he has a fucking gun and Q noticed that Bond had fetched a towel and a glass of water in the interim.

Ben retched slightly, Q rubbing soothing circles over his back, and glancing up to Bond.

No words.

I’m sorry.

It’s alright.


	500. Chapter 500

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello, this was prompted by something you’ve filled: Q is desperately touch starved, and he’ll scene as a sub, sleep with random people etc just to feel something, even though it makes him hate himself. Maybe Bond somehow finds out and helps him? (or something more in character i dunno) it’s up to you! – anon

Thin fingers clutched at a cigarette, Q breathing deeply and playing with the taste across his tongue, letting it shudder into him. There was nowhere in the entirety of MI6 to smoke, barring a far-too-popular balcony, or the roof.

Thus, Q found himself looking over London, smoke curling out of his lips.

"It’ll be the death of you," Bond commented from the doorway.

Q didn’t have the energy to jump at his sudden presence, and just extended the pack towards Bond. “You should still be in medical,” he commented drily, tossing over his lighter quite calmly. “You also shouldn’t smoke, double-oh seven.  
“I’ve survived worse, and being in medical is pointless, given that all they can do for me right now is strap me off and send me on my way,” he commented, with a vague suggestion of a laugh.

They smoked in silence for a bit, watching as the sun rose over a London skyline.

"You’re still doing it, then?" Bond asked, tapping ash off the edge.

Q didn’t reply, eyes still fixed on the glinting buildings, the early birds hitting the streets for runs and dog walks.

"Q, the bruising is getting noticeable," Bond tried again as Q’s eyes glazed. "You don’t eat, soon your work will suffer…"

"My work is not suffering," Q snapped, locking eyes with his colleague, some shadowed suggestion of almost  _fear_  throttling his gaze. “Nor shall it.”

"Not yet," Bond agreed, tone firm. "But if you keep doing this you will. I’m not saying settle down, god knows I can’t say that. Keep doing what you are doing, if it makes you happy, but Q - are you alright?"

Q swallowed, feeling suddenly naked under Bond’s gaze, as if the morning light revealed his every mark, each sordid affair, the moans spilling out of his lips as he tried to feel something,  _anything_.

You couldn’t leave work at work. The constant stream of caffeine-fuelled adrenaline, the rush of something skirting into pleasure as guns fired and machines whirred. You didn’t go home, you wandered in and out of everyday life, those around you unable to understand, unable to even comprehend. Q tried them, begged them, demanded they tear through to soft physical flesh to find something of the man beneath, to catch a breath of that pleasure once again.

He looked to Bond, eyes filled with everything he couldn’t say. Without a word, Bond had grabbed him into a tight hug as Q sobbed and sobbed, body shaking and crumbling, as the sun rose above them.


	501. Chapter 501

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I have read all of your prompts and wanted you to know that I think it is amazing the way you write so well and so much. I have had a 00Q fic idea in the back of my head for a while. it is the progression of their relationship from the POV of someone in medical. You can make it go any way you want, preferably fluff but it’s up to you. Thank you so much, you are awesome!!!! – anon

“… trying to get weapons together for James  _bloody_  Bond, what’s the  _point_ , most irresponsible agent the world has ever or will probably ever see, and I…”

Becca sighed, and interrupted: “You need a good few days off. I’m putting you on compulsory leave for two days. Sleep, if you would. I’ll be checking you when you get back, and if I don’t think you’ve been resting adequately, so help me I’ll extend said leave.”

Q gaped at the sheer unfairness of it all, and Becca dismissed him before he started throwing things.

-

“… a child, he’s a  _child_ …”

“Double-oh seven,  _please_  behave like a grownup,” Becca sighed, trying to attach a new dressing to the gaping wound in his upper arm. “I’m aware that Q tends to irk you, but I’m trying to work?”

“… arrogant, disrespectful…”

Becca rolled her eyes. “For god’s  _sake_ , just ask him out, would you?!” she snapped, and all but threw Bond out of her room before he could say another word.

-

Q was worryingly quiet. “Are you alright?” Becca asked curiously, as she went through her usual volley of tests. “Your blood pressure is normal, and you’re not ranting.”

To her mild alarm, Q shot her a rather dreamy smile. “James and I,” he said softly. “We’re dating. Did anybody tell you?”

“About time,” she replied drily. “I’m glad you’re happy. Now off you go, I have other people to say, and I’m actually happy with your medical state for once.”

Q all but skipped off, looking nauseatingly happy about the world.

-

“Double-oh seven?”

Bond glanced at Becca, and grinned. “A pleasure as always, doctor,” he said, sitting down casually on the bed. “Shirt off, trousers down?”

“Try not to sound quite so much like you’re harassing me, I know about you and the quartermaster,” she teased; Bond’s smile increased exponentially, and Becca tried very hard not to grin herself. “Yes, I’m sure you’re deliriously happy together. Now, shirt off – trousers on, if you please, I can last another fifteen minutes without needing to examine anything else – and I can have a look at whether that knife wound is doing well…”

-

Q lay back, exhausted. “Please only make me take a day?” he pleaded.

“Two,” Becca told him, utterly merciless. “You’re overworking. Again. And badly. It’s not on, Q, and I’ll be speaking to M if this persists.”

Abruptly, she noticed the ring.

Q followed her eyeline, and smiled weakly. “He asked,” Q murmured, eyes sliding shut. “S’all his fault.”

“I bet it is,” she parried drily, before smiling, a little kinder. “Go home, Q. I’ll tell double-oh seven you’ve gone. His job to look after you now, more’s the pity for him. He has no idea what he’s up again.”

Q laughed. “No, he really doesn’t,” he agreed, and slid out of the medical bay.


	502. Chapter 502

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your fics are wonderful! Hopefully this is a new prompt… I don’t know if you’ve ever seen love hate, the short film with ben whishaw and hayley atwell? its great, only 20 min and really worth seeing. I was thinking it would be really cute if Q was Bond’s personification of love or hate, (you choose) maybe they meet in a similar way on a train? – anon

The boy sat opposite, smoke curling out of his bowed lips, smirking.

“And you are?” Bond asked, a little wearily.

The smirk twitched higher. “I’m your antithesis,” he murmured, voice like velvet and caramel and everything gorgeous in the world. “All of those little parts you suppress. The smoking habit you tried to kick when you were nineteen. The hate. The anger. The pain,” the boy’s face fell instantly, into something frightened and lost and incredibly, impossibly hurt. “So much pain, James Bond. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bond told him, in a voice like flint, and stood to leave; the next station was close, he had a chance to get away.

The boy’s hand caught in his jacket. “She loved you,” he said quietly. “You could see it, but you don’t want to accept it any more. It’s alright. She loved you. You loved her, too. It’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“Get off me,” Bond hissed.

The boy lifted a hand mockingly, playfully. “You won’t hurt me,” he said, with a terrifying surety. “You’d never. Not somebody like me. I’m young and clearly a lot less physically dominating – you don’t hurt people like me without due cause, yes?”

Bond’s eyes narrowed. “My antithesis?” he asked again, voice a low murmur, slow and evidently deeply suspicious. The boy lifted another smile, grappled for another cigarette. “How?”

“I don’t know,” the boy shrugged, lighting up, extending it towards Bond and giggling slightly to himself when Bond just raised an eyebrow in response.

Bond couldn’t quite believe what in the hell was going on.

“What should I call you?” he asked instead, voice curiously frosty, but interested now.

The boy knew it, of course he knew it. He could feel,  _hear_ , the interest thrumming in Bond’s voice. His voice, really, but Bond could not ever quite understand it.

Red lips framed a soft  _oh_ , smoke curling out of his mouth again, eyes closing in something like bliss. “Q,” he breathed, and his grin turned  _alive_. Not Bond’s cruel edge, the slightly terrifying slant, but a life and brilliance and brightness that Bond adored and loved and  _wanted_.

And had, presumably. Somewhere.

Q dipped his head in an understated nod, and extended a hand.


	503. Chapter 503

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I have a prompt request and some praise for y’all! Anywho, I love, love, love this blog! This blog is literally the only way when I’m at college to read stories that I wanna read, so thank you for that! My prompt request is….I don’t know if you guys know what metalcore is…but maybe a 00Q Au where James is the drummer of a band and Q has a huge crush on him as a fan of his band….and maybe where Q goes to see one of his shows and he gets to meet James after the show….you know, he sneaks to the back of the venue to meet him (Well, at least I do when I go see some of my favorite bands), and Q leaves such an impression on James that James maybe asks him for his number…or some way to contact him. Oh and um…can you make Q be a college sophmore…please, please, oh please? :) - ponandzifan

Q honestly thought he was going to die of sheer goddamn excitement. His heart had literally never beaten so fast in his  _entire_  life, and he could barely breathe.

James Bond. Known as Bond, and Q knew that, it was  _James Bond_ , and it was wonderful,  _he_  was incredible, an extraordinary drummer in the Double-Ohs and Q had loved them for literally his entire life, and thus – he was doing the one thing he had sworn he would never do.

He was breaking laws and risking life and limb and sanity, and had slipped around backstage and flat-out lied to a single technician he’d come across, before hiding and seeing if he could get up the courage to go into their dressing room.

He wanted to see Bond more than anybody, obviously. Many preferred Alec, but to Q it was  _Bond_ , the drummer and mysterious being from the back of the stage, the one whom everybody knew but nobody  _knew_ , he had so many secrets and was simply and deliciously and ridiculously gorgeous.

“You do realise that you’re in a terrible hiding place?”

Q all but fell over.

James Bond was  _standing next to him_.

“I…”

“What’s your name?” Bond asked, without a moment of hesitation. Q gaped for a full three seconds. “I’m Bond. James Bond.”

Q nodded, eyes a little wide. “I’m aware,” he parried, and quirked a smile that almost passed for confident. “I’m Q. I don’t have a full name, really, my parents were sadistic so everybody calls me Q.”

Bond smiled, and Q felt practically  _nauseous_  at the flood of disbelieving and rather immediate  _want_  that thrummed in him. “Well then,” Bond murmured. “Hello, Q. I suppose you’re here to see Eve?”

Q shook his head, mouth opening; Bond interjected in unison: “Alec?”

“You.”

Silence.

Bond smiled very slightly, tipping his head on a vague incline, as though trying to see Q better. “Me,” he echoed. “That’s very flattering, Q. Boy like you.”

Q could swear he had flushed to the tips of his toes, skin burning. “I’m sorry for sneaking in,” he said honestly, flush intensifying, hopefully not too horrendously obvious. “I just… I’ve been trying to get tickets for months, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity, and it was apparently entirely worth it so I’m not actually that repentant…”

Bond laughed, and the  _sound_ , so close; Q found his mouth entirely dry in an instant. “I have to go, Q,” he said simply, calmly. “I don’t suppose I could take your number? Or you mine?”

The noise Q made was not entirely human.

Their exchange took a handful of minutes, Q’s hand shaking so much he just gave up and handed the phone over; Bond tapped in the number, and assured Q he would call as soon as he could.

The next two days were rather tense, to put it mildly. Q didn’t exactly sleep.

The phone rang. “Q?”

“James Bond,” Q replied on an exhale, and tried to make his blood pressure return to normal.


	504. Chapter 504

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James was in an extremely emotionally-abusive relationship (possibly involving physical abuse to a proxy - perhaps a dog?) during his early 20’s and he hasn’t been in a serious relationship since then. Things are fine until he and Q move in together, but then the memories begin to haunt him. Q has no idea what to do about it because he never would have imagined that a man like James could have been the victim of abuse. – anon

Q could see Bond literally having a panic attack.

He did it in a way only James Bond ever could: so highly internalised that it was damn lucky his heart didn’t simply give out. Or a while, he just seemed to have been caught in suspended animation, not moving or breathing or responding.

“James?” Q asked, lightly, calmly, trying to modulate his voice somehow, confused. “James, is this…”

“Her,” he murmured, eyes pulling free of the clouds, calmer for an instant.

A few languid blinks, evident discomfort, confusion. “James, you’re safe here,” Q tried, wondering if that was lamentably off the mark insofar as comfort went. “James, I’m not going to hurt you, you know that.”

Bond glanced at him, sad, slower than Q liked to see him. “I don’t know that,” he contradicted softly. “I’m sorry, Q. I  can’t stop… I see her. Whenever I’m in a confined space… and now we’re living together, it’s more… it sits on the surface, and I can’t escape it. It’s not about you, Q.”

Q wanted to emphatically and angrily contradict: it  _was_  about him. Regardless of whether it was Bond’s fault, his memory, his  _anything_  – it was, by extension, now about Q. About whether Q could make his lover feel safe. Whether they could make this work while Bond was so transparently  _not_  feeling safe and couldn’t deal with Q so much as raising his voice without flinching which  _really_ , was not what Q had ever expected from a double-oh agent.

Bond was not the type to flinch. To be frightened.

It didn’t mean he  _couldn’t be_ , it just meant that Q looked at him and couldn’t find words because this was  _not his James_. His James could take on the world with an arrogant smirk and decimate everything in a hundred-mile radius.

This was not  _his_  James.

“I love you,” Q murmured softly, sadly. “If that helps. If that means anything at all.”

Bond looked at him, expression not changing. “She never bothered with sentiments like that towards the end,” he said quietly. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I can’t… it’s hard, this is hard.”

A small smile, a small and sad smile. “We’ll work it out,” Q promised, and laced fingers with Bond, a steady and quiet assurance.


	505. Chapter 505

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> awesome writing skills. love it, to unmentionable extremes. lol. so I have a prompt. bond goes up against Q’s evil genius cat and looses but the cat eventually approves of him anyways. I just want silliness and fluffiness. as for Q he just laugh at it all. – anon

Round forty-eight of Bond versus Cat was going extremely badly for all concerned.

R – Q’s cat – was absolutely livid with absolutely everything, had decided Bond was the antichrist, and had been very resolute about proving it ever since.

Mostly, it had been efficient.

Bond and R had pissed on furniture, withdrawn food, eaten food, split drinks, intentionally tried in every way conceivable to destroy one another’s lives. Really, it was getting impressive.

“Will both of you  _kindly_  stop?” Q asked with amused exasperation. “James, you’re engaged in mortal combat  _with a cat_.”

“And  _she’s winning_.”

Q just shook his head, somewhat conceding that he was going to get nothing useful out of Bond.

“R, he’s a  _double-oh agent_. He has no brain to speak off.”

R swished her tail, her demeanour the literal embodiment of ‘ _well duh’_.

Good lord, they were going to kill each other.

Eventually, Bond just conceded defeat. He did what any other self-respecting cat person does: accepts that they are in the presence of a superior being, and acts accordingly. R was well-fed, watered, was allowed equal access to Q and Bond didn’t put up a syllable of protest.

R showed acceptance by settling on Bond’s lap.

Bond spent the entire time looking  _extremely_  frightened, to Q’s absolute adoration.

It appeared Bond had been accepted.

Nobody – and Bond least of all – had the  _faintest_  idea how.


	506. Chapter 506

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering- if you’re not busy- if you’d be able to do a zombie apocalypse fic where Bond, Q, Eve, and Tanner are a group of survivors in London? (Pairings are optional). I really Love the effort you put into your fics -You guys are so amazing! – the-fangirl-blogger

****

“And this is Q,” Tanner said tiredly, gesturing to the annoyingly young man sat at what looked like a collection of wires and the husk of a large old-fashioned television; he was busy with a screwdriver between his teeth, glancing between blueprints and the object itself, eyes narrowing. “Q, James Bond.”

Q lifted a hand in pseudo greeting, without looking up. “Q is our… I suppose quartermaster. Deals with weaponry, mostly, and defensive strategies – he’s probably the only reason we’ve managed to keep this base.”

“Cheers Bill,” Q said lightly, glancing up for a heartbeat to smirk a little, to nod at Bond. “Pleasure to meet you, double-oh seven.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Not really my title any more,” he pointed out; MI6 had been completely disbanded after everything had turned to hell, there was no point to it. Bond had returned to the UK to see what was retrievable – the virus hadn’t quite reached the East, and it was only a matter of stealing a boat at that stage – and found that half of London had fallen.

Thus he had headed to MI6, and found the place all but abandoned; a group of very edgy ex-agents accosted him, Bond maintained and proved that he was uninfected, and thus was guided to the last survivors.

His M was dead. Gareth Mallory had apparently taken some pseudo-charge of the resources available in the MI6 Headquarters, Tanner was still de facto running the show, and Eve Moneypenny – whom Bond owed his near-death experience to – was the second in command.

Q was new. Boothroyd was dead. Q had been a junior Q-branch lackey, but was being groomed for Quartermaster anyway, so he took over as the only person with any real technological aptitude.

Abruptly, alarms went off.

Bond was on panic stations, Tanner looked something near to frightened.

Q just looked up, with mild interest.

“Should that be happening?” Bond asked slowly.

Q shook his head, let out a small sigh, and moved to a cupboard. “That would be the alarm to indicate a perimeter breach,” he informed those assembled, with disconcerting calm. “To all of your posts, if you would. Bond, I have equipment for you – try not to destroy it, it would be something of a pity.”

“You seem very calm,” Bond noted, with slight confusion.

Q glanced at him previously, presented a Walther. “One should never get unduly upset about the inevitable,” he returned drily, and shooed Bond off to defend their base, returning his attentions to whatever the hell he was creating in the middle of the floor while sirens blared, and the infuriating boy remained calm.


	507. Chapter 507

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make Q do Zumba and James wonder wtf please??? :) – inky-brown-eyes

Q looked like a total prat.

Bond had never laughed so much in his life, nor been so honestly and actively alarmed at any actions by anybody he knew.

Zumba used really, really weird selections of music.

Bond knew for a fact that Q liked classical, and heavy metal. Neither of which features in the pop hits that characterised the Zumba tracks, which were all strange dancey collections of hip movements and classes of mostly women looking extremely agitated or extremely overenthusiastic, and all of  _them_  looked just as ridiculous, but Q was a twenty-something-year-old computer programmer with plastic-rimmed glasses, and had absolutely no cardiovascular health, which meant that Bond felt utterly justified in taking the piss a little bit.

“I need to keep up my fitness somehow. I enjoy dancing. I enjoy the bloody  _classes_ , so stop being a prick!” Q snapped at him, shrugging a back onto his shoulder, parka over the top. “Take the piss all you like, but I still have footage of that Tai Kwan Do session you did where you tripped over your own feet.”

Bond blinked. “And?”

Q looked straight back, merciless. “And I will make sure that goes viral, if you don’t stop taking the piss,” he said primly. “Understood?”

“That seems spectacularly unfair,” Bond pointed out, more than a little bit miffed. “I didn’t…”

“Bond, you’re being a twat,” Q told him, with an almost-smile. “Now, I’m going to be late. I’m going to grab a bottle of wine on the way back, are you going to join me?”

“Red or white?”

“Probably red,” Q returned easily, and kissed Bond quickly. “Dinner would be a lovely novelty too, if you don’t mind.”

Bond snorted. “You really do abuse me something shocking when I’m in the UK,” he pointed out. “I leave for two weeks…”

“… and I overwork, don’t have time to indulge in things I enjoy, forget to eat, and then have you make me all better,” Q completed, half-mocking, half honest, and Bond wondered briefly when in the hell his life had become so domestic. 


	508. Chapter 508

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! I wondered if you could fill a prompt for me, one where M(allory) goes through Q’s and Bond’s things after they both die on a mission and finds out about their relationship, and how they were actually absolutely in love (possibly married too?) Thank you! – anon

The extraordinary thing was how well hidden they had kept it.

Nobody had known. Not until the very end, of course, when the pair had been found dead in one another’s arms, in an embrace that was not that of comfort or solidarity but of something far deeper, far more important, and Eve had seen the bodies and cried because there was something awful about the way Bond’s head was cradled in Q’s lap, and Q’s body had twined around him like ivy, impossible to unlace or extract.

MI6 grieved, of course. Q was their most beloved and most extraordinary Quartermaster in history. Bond was the only double-oh agent in the past century to get over forty.

It had never really occurred, until their bodies were found, that they were anything more than friends. Everybody knew they were close, after all, there was no denying that.

M glanced through the paperwork, and that was how he found out.

A single slip of paper, a certificate. An addendum on a computer file. A ring that everybody had assumed was just a statement on Q’s part, and a ring that Bond had kept on his person on every single mission to date, and never managed to lose. (he truly hadn’t ever lost it. Not once. Not for three years).

Three years.

M had been in charge throughout. He, Tanner, Eve, a handful of others – they were supposed to know everything.

More worrying, they had entirely believed that they  _did_  know everything.

Looking at Q and Bond, at a life they had constructed, it was painfully obvious that they had known nothing. Nobody had known Q or Bond in the slightest. It had somehow escaped all notice, and M felt  _repulsive_  in realising he’d somehow overlooked something so incredibly important.

A world of liars and thieves and spies. He shouldn’t have been so surprised.

And yet.

And  _yet_.

It felt like a betrayal, in a ridiculous way, and M’s levels of general suspicion cranked up a number of notches.

Q and Bond were buried together.


	509. Chapter 509

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their old age, Q and Bond provide a safe haven for two boys in love with homophobic parents. – anon

Michael was a Q-branch kid, actually; he had been drafted in MI6 frighteningly early after dropping out of school to hack for pretty much a living, and been consequently scooped up by a delighted MI6 to be pushed into Q-branch.

Q saw him as something of a surrogate child, being barely eighteen, and so when he was thrown out of the house for trying to exist with his partner David – a boy a year younger than him, still therefore in school – it had taken no time at all for Q to ask Bond, and willingly agree to letting the boys crash in the spare room until further notice.

Bond was unobtrusive by nature, and Q had a talent for empathy insofar as knowing when to stay silent.

It was very evident that both boys were deeply unhappy. Losing one’s family is hell, especially when concerning something as fundamental and basic, incontrovertible, _unavoidable_  as the simple and irritating and wonderful and awful act of falling in love with somebody.

Q understood better than most. Bond’s parents hadn’t lived long enough to be condemnatory of his sexuality, but he knew enough, was far from naïve. Loss played out in different ways, and David in particular was tangibly devastated by the loss of his immediate family.

Optimistically, Q theorised that they may perhaps adapt. Once the shock had worn off, once they had accustomed themselves to the idea.

Frankly, he didn’t believe it himself, but he was not about to inform the two boys of that.

And so, they essentially moved in. Michael helped pay rent – Q and Bond agreed to give them drastically reduced rates, quite obviously, given that David was trying valiantly hard to get his A-levels – and before very long, Q and Bond found themselves in the very strange position of having a pair of lodgers.

It was not easy. David was young and frightened, and Michael was older and brasher and far more bitter; he was tangibly likely to lash out, and Q in particular found himself worriedly trying to reign the younger man in before all hell broke loose.

Bond stumbled into the kitchen one morning, to find David making breakfast for everybody still around; he was a surprisingly good cook, Bond had found out not long previously, and the pair had reached the stage where they would companionably cook while Michael and Q traded code like bullets.

“Thank you,” the younger man told Bond calmly, for the several billionth time. “I know I shouldn’t, but… fuck. My mam, she called.”

Bond turned to him, raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

David shrugged, poked his eggs. “I don’t know like, she doesn’t want to talk to me,” he returned, lilting accent pronounced in his upset. “I just, thank you, James. Again. I say it a lot, but…”

“It’s fine,” Bond repeated, for the several billionth time – and still, quite definitely, meant it. “Come on. I’ll make you a coffee.”


	510. Chapter 510

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi dears. Many of the fics in this fandom have Bond being the pursuer (breaking into Q’s apartment, loitering around Q branch etc.) What if Q was the one pursuing Bond for a change? :p Showing up in the same places as Bond, dropping hints & innuendo and just generally courting oblivious-at-first!Bond. I’d love some humour and cunning!Q. Thank you <3 – prince-benji

Bond blinked, narrowed his eyes.

He had never been the type to believe in coincidences. His job simply didn’t allow the possibility of them. Coincidence could not exist, and so Bond blithely ignored any that came across and let his cynicism run wild.

Q grinned, proffered tea. “I’ve got a busy day coming up, have had a  _lot_  of caffeine, and I thought you should catch up,” he said brightly, before his voice dropped a little, an edge of definite  _something_  creeping in. “Step into my office?”

Honestly, it was a little too odd for Bond to know quite what to do with it.

As it was, Q’s office always had chocolate, and Q himself was probably Bond’s closest friend in MI6. And he had brought coffee. Really, it was just rude to refuse.

Bond took Q’s spare chair, and Q sat on his table. Literally, sat on his table, legs crossed, ignoring papers. “Sorry, I like tables, you get a different view,” he said brightly. “You alright? Looking a bit… tired?”

“Cheers,” Bond returned, with a sideways smirk of his own. “I’m fine. You’re looking like a kid with too much artificial sweetener.”

Q’s grin was alive, infectious. “I probably am,” he conceded. “I should  _probably_  have some actual food to temper it at some stage.”

“I’d agree.”

“Where would you recommend?”

Shit, the kid didn’t miss a beat. “I know a few places,” Bond acknowledged, a little slowly, a little curious; if this was what he  _thought_  it was, it probably constituted one of the most bizarre courtings he had ever been involved in. “

Q nodded lightly. “Excellent. Eight?”

Bond looked like he had been hit over the head with something solid. “I’m taking you dinner?” he asked, with mild amusement.

“It would seem so, yes,” he grinned, entirely unapologetic. “Problem?”

In all honestly, Bond just couldn’t find one. He wanted to object in relatively strenuous terms, but couldn’t really justify it – the objection only came in having accidently, and with no idea  _how he’d managed it_  – winding up on a date with his quartermaster. “Is it a date?” he asked, for clarity.

Q smirked, nodded. “Yep,” he agreed. “A date. With me. Well done, Mr Bond, successful morning had by all. Now drink your coffee.”

Bond just did as he was told. It seemed simplest.


	511. Chapter 511

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah never done this before but here we go. :S Prompt: Despite often resembling a cat, Q is actually a dog person. Possible protective!pet who doesnt like the rough handling of his owner or agents breaking in late at night? Thanks :3 x – anon

Everything had been going beautifully.

Bond had decided, for reasons best known to himself, that breaking into Q’s flat was the best way of winding up in a relationship with him. An absolutely absurd concept, but Bond rather thrived on the ‘absolutely absurd’, and so couldn’t claim to being very repentant.

So: all had gone well.

Until the  _bloody_  thrice-cursed  _sodding_  dog had attacked.

Bond did not do dogs. He hated the bloody things. He had  _always_  hated dogs, and it had not occurred to him  _for a single second_  that Q – who just didn’t seem the type to own moronic slobbering things – would have a dog that would pretty much knock him over the moment he tried to step foot in the house.

Which led to Bond being attacked, and Q arriving several moments later with a handgun, in his pyjamas. “Really, double-oh seven?!” he said irritably, not lowering his weapon. “Why. Why in god’s name did this ever seem a good idea?!”

“It didn’t,” Bond conceded, as Q told off his mutt, the thing withdrawing to leave a very ruffled Bond in a more-ruffled Armani suit in the middle of Q’s living room. “I just… I don’t actually know. It seemed the right thing to do.”

Q rolled his eyes. “We can tackle the ‘why’ in a moment,” he said drily. “For now – never break into my flat again. Ever.  Roger is lovely to most people, but if I let him at you, they’ll find nothing but very small bits which I will then feed to piranhas. Do I make myself clear.”

Bond nodded, trying to pick himself, his suit, and his dignity up. “Crystal,” he nodded, suitably chastised. “I… Q, you have a dog?!”

“ _That_  is what you’ve taken from that rant?” Q returned, dumbfounded. “Piranhas are mentioned, and… sorry. Yes. I have a dog. Well done. I can see how you passed your exams. A dog flies at you and you acknowledge that there is a dog in the vicinity. Just exemplary.”

“Enough,” Bond told him, a little shortly; Q was very boring, when he went off on one of his rants. It was near enough impossible to make him stop. His tangents spread into entire worlds, and nothing would stop him or stall him until his rambling analogies had reached an end.

“So, onto ‘why’?!”

“Your observational skills are very clearly lacking,” Bond told him, dry, humour crawling in around the edges. “Why do you  _think_  I might want to see you?”

Q, for the very first time, looked a little taken-aback. “I…”

“Would you like to go out for dinner?”

It was one of the most absurd experiences of Q’s life, he was forced to consider. “You _broke into my flat_  to ask me out?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“Alright,” Q sighed.

Bond’s eyes widened incrementally. “What?!”

“I said alright,” Q snapped at him, a little irritably. “Now piss off, I want to go back to bed. And apologise to Roger.”

Afore-mentioned dog was still snarling. “Sorry,” Bond muttered at it; he could have sworn the bloody thing  _grinned_. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes,” Q nodded, waving him away, yawning. “Go away, double-oh seven.”

“Goodnight, Q.”

“Piss off.”


	512. Chapter 512

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> elo! just kinda wanted to submit a prompt? (and sorry you lost your previous prompts. that sucks!). i was watching old cartoons and watched Recess and got an idea. like er, Q sometimes hangs upside down like on monkey bars. um, something like to jog his brain, or i dunno, and mi6 has different reactions (i imagine Alec would wanna hang upside down too. hehehe). i just find it funny in my head. heeheehee. hope that doesn’t sound weird. thank you! <3 – anon

Bond was relatively certain he must have been drugged at some stage, because this was just too weird a hallucination to be entirely accidental, or indeed entirely benevolent.

Q was hanging upside-down on monkey bars, which appeared to have been entirely installed in his office to allow him to do just that. His glasses were folded and on the desk behind him, eyes closed, and shirt falling to reveal a slip of skin.

It got better.

Alec was hanging upside-down next to him, doing a full abdominal workout, apparently.

“What the hell?” he asked tiredly.

Q cracked open one eye. Alec continued laughing, as his body jackknifed up and down. “I’m thinking,” he replied calmly, the living embodiment of  _zen_ , and Alec just snorted and continued to exercise.

Bond had hoped they would elaborate. No such luck.

“Okay –  _why_  are you thinking upside-down?”

Q reached up, swung himself up, hung by his hands for a moment before dropping elegantly. “It helps me think,” he replied obtusely, and Alec just  _kept on_  exercising, by now rather red.

“Alec?”

Alec swung himself around, did a strange flip-like thing and very nearly knocked over Q’s desk, landing a millimetre from Bond’s nose. “I enjoy it,” he said simply.

“ _Why the fuck are there monkey bars in here_?!”

Impressively, the line had not come from Bond.

No.

M had seen.

“Bond, you  _could_  have closed the door,” Q whined, as M walked in, livid. “I…”

“You have wasted resources to install…”

“They were a  _gift_ ,” Q corrected, looking understandably nervous; M was a bit scary at the best of times. “It’s a cognitive aid. Alec was just utilising existing resources.”

Bond shook his head slightly, looking between his best friend and his Quartermaster, very much confused. “Apologies, sir,” Alec told M, in his most gravelled and sexually-laced tone. A bit bizarre, but disarming enough for M to let him off the hook without undue concern; Q had done the same with his ability to look like a kicked puppy, before overusing it to the stage where M just wasn’t buying it.

“I…”

“Bond, Trevelyan,  _out_.”

Both did as told, and Q shot Bond a look of childish and awful and painful betrayal.

Bond felt a stab in his abdomen, Alec swore in fluid Russian, and the door closed behind them.


	513. Chapter 513

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond has been distracted in the last couples of days, Q has noticed. Finally one day during dinner Bond spit out the truth. He wants the retirement, so he can spend more time with Q and also for Q’s safety. Thank you so much for the amazing task you do! – anon

“James, this is getting…”

Bond was at the essential end of his tether. Q knew he didn’t want to talk about it. Bond had made it patently clear, from the outset, that he  _did not want_  to talk about the various issues that were plaguing him, had been plaguing him, and Q had for a short while acceded and was now back to harping along the same theme for no explicable reason.

“James…”

“Have I ever mentioned that you are an  _absolute nightmare_?” Bond told him, with tangible annoyance. “Q, leave it. Please.”

“But…”

“Oh, for the  _love of_ …”

Bond trailed off, breathed steadily, glared at his partner. Q looked back at him, the picture of innocence, and Bond shook his head a little. “You’re a nightmare,” he said frankly; Q smiled sideways, a half-smirk, and nodded. “Q, I sent in my letter of retirement to MI6 two days ago.”

For a weird moment, Q looked like he had been hit over the head with a mallet. “You what?!”

Bond glanced over him, expression calm, almost neutral but falling a touch short as he tried to find some way of expressing what he had done, why he had done it. “Q, I’m old,” he said frankly. “Certainly for active work. I’ve always assumed I would die on another mission, but the thing is, I have you.”

Q looked severely distempered, almost confused. “I’m not going to stop working,” he said slowly, carefully. “James, you’ll… the loneliness, you’ll get  _ridiculously_  bored and just… you need it, James. It’s a part of you, your work, you know that.”

“I’ve said in the past that I would resign if it gave me the chance to stay with somebody I loved.”

The silence was awe-inspiring. “You…”

Q trailed off.

“I hope that’s alright,” Bond commented, rather drily.

A small nod, tentative, uncertain. “But…” he managed, head shaking slightly. “You can’t. You can’t lose it for me, you did for her, that was… I’m not… fuck. Fuck, James.”

“You’re taking this beautifully, well done,” Bond continued, voice getting drier by the moment. “It isn’t asking you for anything…”

“Yes it  _bloody_  is,” Q contradicted instantly. “You’re giving up something that practically fucking  _defines_  you for the chance of our relationship surviving, and that puts a  _lot_  of strain on me, and you’re immensely naïve if you think otherwise.”

Bond was quiet for a moment. “Q, it’s my decision,” he said softly. “Because of you, but not  _for_  you.”

“… please  _never_  do anything like that  _for_  me…”

“But don’t think you’re unimportant, and don’t think that I’m not considering a long-term already,” he pointed out, while Q watched him with half-disbelief and half essential terror. “Life is short.”

Q deflated visibly, still in shock, glancing at Bond with naked disbelief. “I love you too, you know,” he muttered, a touch belatedly. “I don’t want you to lose anything for me.”

Bond rolled his eyes, and just scooped Q into his arms.


	514. Chapter 514

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi! i have (another) 00Q prompt, because you’re just too good at filling them… i really hope you like it! Q&Bond have to work on a mission with another field agent (woman, not a 00), and they both like her (as a friend!) very very much, to the point that they are jealous of her relationship with the other until they found out… she’s quite very gay! i don’t know why, but i’d love her to know lots of languages, also unusual ones like latin or ancient greek…T H A N K S !! - fridatwin

Q was a little pink.

He often was thus. When upset or distressed or angry, his complexion took on a rather hilarious shade of pink, which had gradients between mild rose to pillar-box, and the Q-branch kids could all recognise, name and respond to them all. It had become something of a training routine in Q-branch.

Right now, he was a flush that was new – envy.

R knew, and had warned everybody that speaking about agent 007 would be extremely detrimental to their health. Everybody believed her.

Bond, meanwhile, was  _just as bad_.

Moneypenny was keeping an eye out, given that Bond could be a little alarming when jealous. “You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered, as Charley leaned into Q’s immediate space, hand brushing his, indicating a few symbols on the computer screen while sitting happily on the edge of his desk. “You’re just as bad, with her.”

Bond ignored her, as Eve had expected, and so she rolled her eyes and let him get on with sulking in his own time.

Bond stormed in. “You’re flirting.”

Q looked frankly alarmed, Charley just a touch amused. “I’m what?” she asked, a dash tiredly.

“Flirting.”

“ _Hypocrite_ ,” Q snapped at him. “You’re accusing  _her_  of inappropriate…”

“… you’re practically sitting on one another…”

“… see you on your missions, and…”

The insults ran back and past Charley, who watched in quiet, and couldn’t help a slight smile.

They refused to stop.

“Boys, boys, you’re both pretty,” she interjected loudly; the surprise was enough to silence them. “Thank you. Listen – I’m very flattered at having caused such perturbation on  _both_  your parts, but I’m utterly uninterested. In both of you, actually. You’re both a little masculine for my tastes, if you get my drift.”

Bond’s mouth unapologetically fell open. Q’s pink took on the ‘embarrassed’ tone. “Ah,” he murmured. “Sorry, Charley.”

Charley just laughed outright. “Pair of idiots,” she said fondly. “Are you both going to be normal again, now?”

Q nodded sheepishly, and Bond appeared to still be in shock. “He will be,” Q supplemented, smiling slightly himself.

“Thank you,” she said on a light breath. “Ta ta for now, I expect you two have enough to be getting along with.”

With that, she sauntered out, and even had the common sense to shut the door behind her.


	515. Chapter 515

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond has just arrived from a mission, before going to medical, he goes to see Q. James teaches Q how to heal wounds, so Q is not afraid of them, maybe one day James will need Q’s help. – anon

There was a breathtaking amount of blood.

Q was finding the whole affair very unfair; he wasn’t supposed to be on active missions, he was a  _quartermaster_ , not a bloody agent, which meant that actually  _being there_  in the field was wrong and idiotic, and his guard and his lover and his friend was bleeding out messily in the middle of their bedroom.

It was not the first time Q had dealt with large quantities of Bond’s blood, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant.

The bloody man had half-knocked Q’s door down within a fortnight of meeting one another, with a five-inch gash to his abdomen that was steadily leaking blood across his front. “ _Fuck_ ,” Q had exclaimed, and felt immediately extremely nauseous.

“I need your help,” Bond had told him brightly, and all but passed out.

Now, Q was a lot better. It was unpleasant. It always would be. But at the same time, Bond wasn’t dead, which was definitely a good thing in the long run, if he was being entirely honest with himself.

Thus, Q breathed.

He fetched what he needed, and his jaw remained tight and face completely chalk white, and he remembered every fragment of information anybody had ever imparted and began to slowly, carefully, deal with it.

Q was not an active agent.

As the door hammered and Bond bled and Q’s fingers tightened over the slick skin of a gun he had made once, he began to appreciate that all the medical help in the world may not be able to help when trying to fix something that was irreparable, and that the stress was making his hands shake and the medical extraction teams were late and Q was tired and was very, very scared.

The door slammed open, and Q reached back for the gun and couldn’t move fast enough, and the realisation hit halfway through moving, and his body worked before his mind could intervene and he just grappled and fired and found himself swamped and people were swamping James  _no James no no_  and there was  _so much blood_.

“Quartermaster, we are your extraction team, identification number…”

Q was not listening.

He stared at Bond at retched, hands covered in blood, and let the darkness that slid over him a moment later completely swallow him.


	516. Chapter 516

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello awesome writers! i’d like to request a story of Q in a relationship with Alec Trevelyan but Q is very much in love with Alec’s bestfriend, James Bond. when James hints on a possible relationship with Q, Alec gets dropped immediately. But then Bond never meant to take any relationship with his quartermaster go beyond friendship. Not into that Alec/Q, so i don’t want happy endings for them. – anon

Q wanted to love him. He really did. He would have given almost anything to fall simply and easily in love with Alec Trevelyan, and forget about James Bond forever, never need to consider him again.

The problem was, he simply  _couldn’t_.

But, James Bond was straight. Everybody knew that. The world and his wife knew that and accepted that and Q had too (ish) and so he didn’t ask any questions concerning himself and Bond, and instead tried to act his age and not be completely obsessive over somebody he simply could never be with.

Alec loved him. Alec looked after him.

Bond made him  _excited_ , though.

Then there was Mumbai, and Bond, and a young man and Q’s heart leapt into his throat and he realised that there  _was_  a chance, a real and honest and open chance that he could be with James Bond because it  _wasn’t_  sexuality that barred them, he could be open and flirt and find Bond instead, and he had never wanted to hurt Alec but the unfortunate truism was that there was always going to be collateral damage.

Alec was it.

Q wanted to love him.

He  _couldn’t_.

The idea that Bond couldn’t love  _him_  was so alien that when it occurred, when it became  _obvious_ , Q pretty much lost it.

The irony was unspeakable. Alec was barely speaking to him, mostly given his rather tactless moves on Bond while he had been dating his best friend, and the dynamics had become strained at best and horrible at worst, and so Q watched two good things shatter.

“You’re a friend, Q,” Bond told him, a little tiredly, while Q remained bowstring-taut. “I’m sorry.”

Q shrugged, lied, and lied more as he pretended to move on.

Alec just watched, eyes dark, and monosyllables turned quieter, dying out altogether into an excruciating silence that nothing would touch.


	517. Chapter 517

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt pls? um… i’m thinking of one where Q is evil and enjoys making people uncomfy so he hires a new techie and she’s REALLY HOT (and good at her job!) and Q knows people find him attractive too. so the duo enjoy being provocative and stuff in seemingly-innocent situations. then eve joins in cuz she figured it out. and even M gets kinda hot under the collar. dunno how bond will react but he likes provocative!Q. and er… if this prompt is ok? thank youuu!!!! <3333 – anon

Her name was Neve, and she was gorgeous, and she could probably destroy the world in five keystrokes or less, and absolutely everybody wanted her and nobody could blame them because god  _damn it_ , there was nothing more appealing than somebody who could rip you to shreds without really trying.

Q knew that – and that was his preserve. Being lethal. And fuck, it was hot.

The pair worked in a terrible tandem, working in and off one another, breathtakingly quick and sharp and eloquent and everybody,  _everybody_ , was reaching the edges of their sanities over the matter.

Eve smirked.

There were suddenly three of them.

M walked into Q-branch to find his Quartermaster standing tall with a cup of tea and imperious expression, Eve looking up at him through dark lashes, and Neve’s parted lips spelling nothing short of filthy things (or so M’s mind supplied).

It was impossible.

It was unhealthy.

M left.

Bond was just as bad. His mouth went visibly dry. It was actively hilarious to witness.

Q managed to chuck Bond out of Q-branch before he went too far, but it was a very close run thing; he had practically pounced, hands ranging over Q’s body, moaning outright at how he looked as he bent forward, winked, smirked.

Frankly, Bond nearly got his balls chopped off in an abortive attempt to near-enough assault Neve. She looked scandalised, Eve rolled her eyes, and Q was quietly and understatedly disappointed.

“You’re the only one he watches,” Eve pointed out, exasperated. “For god’s sake Q, he’s trying to make you jealous.”

Q raised an eyebrow.

Fuck.

Bond  _was_.

“Neve,” Q said abruptly, calling her into his office, shutting the door. “I need to snare 007.”

“Way ahead of you,” Neve grinned, and elaborated on possibly one of the best plans Q had heard in his life.

One week later, and Bond’s arm was calmly laced around Q’s, and Neve just watched, and began her machinations to get 006 and Eve together – while a very satisfied R grew increasingly close to the most gorgeous woman in MI6.


	518. Chapter 518

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’d love a fic where Q is really competent + confident at work but he always gets shy + awkward around Bond. But Bond really gets turned on by this + Q’s inexperience/innocence + teaching Q how to sexually please him. – anon

The moment Q and Bond were alone in any real space, the façade became far more noticeable. It was curious; he didn’t deflate entirely, there was no noticeable or abrupt change. It was just a shift. A tilt on an axis.

He could still banter, was still the most sarcastic creature Bond would probably ever know, could still irritate him beyond conception with three words or less, and their whatever-it-was became a friendship became Bond kissing his Quartermaster became a date became both lying on Q’s sofa, bodies lost in one another.

And yet.

Q tangibly had no idea what to do with Bond, the moment he was displaced from his safety zone. Out of Q-branch, his tea and his sarcasm and cardigans, and into dinners and dressing up and manners, he was entirely lost.

Bond tried to coax him back, to near enough no avail.

It needed to be something new, something Q would never expect.

Thus Bond utilised every skill he possessed: he found Q’s favourite takeaway, favourite food, favourite wine. Organised Q’s flat – which he may or may have broken into – with candles and silverware, and dressed in his suit and waited for his Quartermaster to tumble through the door and informed him that they were having dinner.

Q nearly shot him for breaking in, but that was beside the point.

His relaxation was tangible, and he shot Bond a grateful look as they skirted over the best of both worlds, and Bond had  _Q_  back for a while.

Which naturally culminated in the bodies-on-the-sofa moment.

It took very little time to tease out just quite  _why_  Q was so reticent: “You’re  _James Bond_ ,” he snapped, a little irritably. “You’re known for being good at… this, really, and I’m not exactly a female with pneumatic breasts, a cocktail dress, and experience on my side.”

“If I wanted the above, I’d go find it,” Bond returned drily. “Q, I want  _you_ , for a reason, and the fact that it’s  _you_  beats technique. Believe me. If you’re worried, just bear in mind that it’s about what  _you_  want, too. Tell me what you like, I’ll tell you what I like.”

Q’s expression twitched, and Bond would have given worlds to know what he was thinking in that moment, what was lingered and what was changing.

He could discern nothing, but Q’s attitude altered. With something like curiosity, something like determination, he began an odd semi-methodical exploration; he seemed to map everything of Bond’s form, gradually drawing out everything, Bond’s body pulled to the edge and back again as he was ruthlessly examined and explored and plotted, and Bond had expected an evening that never quite happened given that Q managed to draw out an absolutely blinding orgasm while still in what Bond had previously considered ‘foreplay’.

“Fuck, Q,” Bond murmured, and kissed him senseless. “Thank you. Now try and stop being an idiot, and remember this next time you feel insecure?”

“Will do,” Q grinned, and let his hips rut instinctively against Bond’s side. “Now, you have a sexual legacy to live up to…”


	519. Chapter 519

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so one of my random headcanons about Q is when he was a teen he was an amazing tap dancer who’d win competitions and perform in school shows and all that. So now and then he’ll be in Q branch doing some work and when no one else is in the room he’ll do a sneaky routine as a stress reliever. Please can you do a fic where Bond walks in to one of his routines and Q doesn’t realise. Bonus points if Q is singing some big broadway tune ;) If you do this then I will pay you in kisses! THANKS! <3 – qtmaster

Q’s body was water. It was the only way to adequately document it, to really do justice to the elegance, eloquence, of his body in motion.

The rhythm, sound, was somehow hypnotic. Listening to it, Bond could understand why Q danced; the sounds were steady and predictable, and as binary as any numbers – they hit in the right order, the right time, and Q somehow made it so there was never a slip. Nothing jarred.

Bond let himself be lulled, as Q worked through a scat solo Bond vaguely remembered from Top Hat, and the music played on Q-branch speakers, and Q’s voice half-merged but that was secondary, that was the overflow. Everything was his body, and where his mouth and words and voice could, it added and augmented, and he was  _beautiful._

Q tripped over, when he saw Bond in the doorway. “The  _fuck_ ,” he yelped. “You could have  _said something_.”

“You’re a good dancer,” Bond said simply.

Q blinked. “I know,” he returned, a little belatedly. “I… thank you.”

Bond moved closer, body swaying slightly, and took Q’s hand. “Ready?” he murmured, and for a moment, Q looked entirely confused.

Top Hat. The music slid into the next song, and a hand rested on Q’s waist, and a took a breath inwards; Bond’s body slid forward and in and they were dancing, and Q could adapt and Bond could not, and so he moved with the grace of somebody who had danced so many years, androgyny incarnate, so beautiful.

A dip; Q’s back vacillated, and Bond scooped him up again, kissed him.

Q pushed him back, in absolute shock.

“Do you mind?” Bond asked quietly, gently.

A small smile, and Q shrugged. “Just unexpected,” he replied quietly. “Erm… well. Thank you, double-oh seven.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond replied, with absolute ease. “Dinner?”

“Eight,” Q nodded, and grinned.


	520. Chapter 520

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey Jen and Lex! :) How about: genderswap 00q, Q finds a way to weaponize nail polish. Thanks in advance! Love your works :* - inksplashed-heart

“Ready?” Q asked politely.

Bond nodded, hair in a careful bun. “Are you?” she replied simply, and smirked to herself. Her fingers flexed, and she took a breath, straightening her blouse. “I hate you for this, by the way.”

“And so you should,” Q acceded, her green eyes glinting.

Q was evil. She was pure, utter evil. True evil, in the rawest sense of the word.

There were many separate and distinct things wrong with Bond’s quartermaster applying poisonous nail varnish to Bond’s fingers. Poison should  _not_  be on his hands, should never be there, and Q should  _not_  have been so very enthusiastic.

“You love it,” Q purred.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I do  _not_ ,” she replied irritably, and held out her hand with unreasonable aggression. “Go on. If I die, I’m going to make sure your own death is…”

“Resurrection is admirable, but if this gets you, I’ll defy even you to come back,” Q said happily.

The idea was that it could only be activated on broken skin, and would need the activation chemical; in theory, Bond would never be in jeopardy.

Still, there was something exceptionally unnerving about poison on one’s hands. Not to mention that biting nails was out of the question.

“It’s fucking  _red_?!”

Q literally cackled. “I had to choose a colour, and since you’re our resident… well,” she continued, with a wink, and ducked back before a well-deserved punch landed. She snorted instead, and beckoned Bond’s hands back. “You’ll look gorgeous,” she coaxed, not really even trying to suppress her smirk.

“You’re evil.”

Q looked up, through her round glasses, and blinked once. Wordless.

Bond got the idea.

She had  _always_  been evil.

“Activation here,” Q said with a light sigh. “Oh, and there is an antidote, obviously. However, you will be extremely ill, and I will be extremely unhappy with you.”

Bond growled very slightly. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Q replied with great satisfaction. “Off you go, double-oh seven. A pleasure as always.”


	521. Chapter 521

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just read ALL your prompts —so good! Okay, so I’d like to see Q badly injured on the job while he’s on the earpiece with Bond. So Bond hears all of it happen, but doesn’t get there until the ambulance. So, he can’t do anything, just watch. Maybe to make matters worse, one of the paramedics hands him Q’s bloody cardigan. Just some nice Q!whump with Bond absolutely terrified because 1)There’s nothing he can do and 2)It looks like Q actually might die. – roe-your-boat

Q had been surreptitious, quiet. Not much had been happening, actually; Q was not supposed to be damaged, he was not supposed to be in any danger, really.

It was therefore something of a shock, when Q was intentionally targeted by a car.

Bond had just been chatting, waiting for action; Bond was knocking back in his hotel room, while Q headed back home from a quiet surveillance routine, and out of nowhere, Bond had heard a crushing, a crash, and Q had made no sound whatsoever.

Bond had just known.

He got there in tandem with the ambulance, and the paramedics had been busy around Q’s limp form, blood everywhere, his cardigan passed out as they tried to reach his torso and Bond watched with an absolute inability to compute because  _fuck_ , this wasn’t a gunshot or anything Bond knew or understood. This was  _wrong_. This was not what the job usually needed to entail.

Q remained so impossibly, horrendously still.

Blood leaked out into the tarmac.

Bond was not allowed to stay in the ambulance; he followed on instead, angry, and could barely breathe as he came shockingly close to hyperventilating. “I’m here for Q,” Bond said simply.

He was immediately directed. “Will he make it?!”

“Yes,” the doctor said simply. “He will not be well, but he  _will_  survive. We are doing all we can.”

Bond sat outside, waited. Went into Q’s hospital room, waited.

Waited.


	522. Chapter 522

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> totally inspired by my dog who is a 7month old mastiff perhaps Q has a large dog that likes to play with shoes maybe Q brings it to work where it runs around taking peoples shoes and leaving them in Qs office – tobiismycat

Eventually, everybody just gave up.

If one didn’t relinquish shoes, then Q’s  _bloody_  dog would attack feet until the shoes were gone. They would then either be chewed to death or stored elsewhere, depending on – presumably – how aesthetically pleasing the damned thing found them.

The dog was S, given that Q’s cat was R and it would have been confusing to have ‘T’ given Q’s propensity for drinking litres of the stuff, and it was universally hated. Q was merrily oblivious.

Nobody wore shoes in MI6 any more.

This was not, in itself, problematic. Q-branch were used to far more dangerous things, as were the active agents, and while professionalism had somewhat gone out of the window, at least nobody’s feet were being gnawed off any more.

Until MI6 were visited by CIA consults.

That was a little more embarrassing, quite honestly.

CIA operatives walked through MI6, into Q-branch, utterly perturbed by the shoeless nature of them all; they expected something better from the Quartermaster, only to find him half-dancing around the arena like stage of Q-branch itself, issuing instructions and typing like a madman, bare feet skidding along the floor.

“This is Q?” one asked, disbelieving.

Q turned on his heel, glanced him up and down. “It assists creativity,” Q said blithely, his dog growling quietly in the background. “Tight shoes and anal retention go hand in hand. Understood?”

The operatives blinked. There was very little one could say to that.

“If you would like to come into my office – and remove your shoes – I would be much obliged,” Q said lightly, as S ran towards the new arrivals, an obvious trajectory right towards their feet.


	523. Chapter 523

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YES! I want revenge for the 006 and Q on mission. NOW…James takes Eve on a mission field (obviously Alec and Eve are a couple) Let’s say Alec is not very happy about he being the one listening through the earpiece (James do it like in kind of revenge) :P – anon

Q literally couldn’t stop laughing. It was infantile, but probably one of the funniest things he had known in his entire life.

Bond was flirting. Not really just flirting, but essentially lacing sex into every syllable and seeing how far he could push it before Eve would respond.

She had no interest, of course. Alec and Eve had been together a while, now, and happily so – Bond was delightful, but Moneypenny was long past the stage of being impressed by him.

The other aspect was that she knew, very well, just how badly Alec had behaved on his field mission with Q. He had been  _filthy_ , just to wind up his closest friend; Eve had very few compunctions about joining Bond in getting a very successful revenge.

Thus, Alec was delightfully angry, Q could not stop snorting, and both Eve and Bond were busy throwing extremely sexual metaphors at the other and seeing what happened. It was  _so much fun_.

If Q hadn’t been quite so secure as a human being, he would have  _murdered_  Bond.

“Oh,  _James_. You are  _naughty_.”

Alec was white. Q was half-purple with suppressed laughter.

“My dear Miss Moneypenny, I know you adore it.”

The lines were  _terrible_ , but Alec was past the point of assessing reality, and into the realms of blind hatred and panic and self-doubt. “How are you not killing him?!” Alec snapped at Q, at one stage.

With more self-control than he knew he had: “I am incoherently angry. I will deal with him later.”

Alec left the room, and Q collapsed with laughter. “James, you are going to have your balls cut off,” he cackled. “This is… I think you’re going a bit far now, Alec’s reached the swearing-in-Russian stage.”

“Noted,” Bond returned, with a warmth of humour lacing his own voice. “And Eve?”

Eve’s voice was contented, wicked. “He’ll forgive me anything,” she said happily. “He’s a bit too old-fashioned chivalrous to blame me. Antiquated, but useful, really.”

“I’ll be sure not to make that mistake,” Bond rumbled.

“Old dog, new tricks,” Q parried. “Both of you, this is stellar. One of the funniest things I have ever witnessed. But he is going to kill you.”

Bond smirked. “I’ll have to get you to protect me,” he murmured.

“Get a room, you two,” Eve told them, a little discomfited. “Pair of you…”


	524. Chapter 524

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so im watching skyfall for the billionth time, and i literally just paused it because i’ve thought of another prompt. so ben and daniel were in the trench together, right? and they were both in the army and stuff. what if they were lovers during the trench, then they meet again in MI6 as Q and 007? q could’ve went into computers at some point, and bond might’ve just wanted to move on to better things. ah jeez i love you guys and your writing so much, can’t wait to see how this turns out! :) – anon

They were never quite intimate. It was an odd little dynamic; they fell into some strange approximation of love, of care, without seeing how or understanding in the slightest. A lot of it was simply alien, and it was hardly the environment to indulge in much romance.

Q was wounded in action.

He then proceeded to simply disappear.

Bond spent years trying to track him down, trying to find the boy he had loved a long time ago, and be with him – and for all that time, there was nothing to find. ‘Q’ had disappeared entirely, and apparently was making no effort to find him, either.

After a while, Bond just forgot. He made himself forget, and it was just about possible to let Q slip from his mind. He remembered, once in a while, when the war played across his irises and he remembered Q bleeding, and remembered his voice and his smile, and his expression constricted into some form of hatred and he swallowed it back faster than he knew he could.

Joining MI6 was an easy, predictable step. He had an excellent reputation, would be nothing but an asset to the army, and thus they were happy to accept him into their number.

“Always makes me feel a little melancholy.”

Bond’s heart stopped beating. It always did, when he heard any voice that seemed similar, that sounded almost, almost like Q, and he gritted his teeth and refused to look around because honestly, he couldn’t bear the disappointment again, as he did every single time he came close to hearing.

“Wait…  _James_?!”

Bond turned sharply, head spinning.

For a moment, they simply stared at one another.

“Q,” he murmured back, in quiet disbelief.

It was indisputable. It didn’t need Q’s quiet answering nod, or Bond’s wounded sound; it was just  _fact_ , the ridiculous presence of Q  _being there_ , of recognising him and needing him, perhaps, and maybe this was what they had always needed, and he was just as beautiful as Bond had always remembered.

Bond stood to leave.

“ _James_ , please. Please. Let me explain.”

Q’s voice was soft and pleading, and there was nothing left to do.

Bond sat, and he listened.


	525. Chapter 525

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, you guys are amazing, thank you so much for filling everyone’s prompts, I’m still waiting for my prompt but well, here’s another lol how about something from the lyrics of Nothing Left To Lose by The Pretty Reckless? Q and Bond were in a relationship when Q was young but they broke up for some reason, you decide how the story goes from there? Thanks <33 – anon

Q had been too young, and too immature, and too utterly blown away by an older man who could spirit him into something insane and untouchable, and was in university and didn’t seem to recognise that Bond could always see through lies, and could always find the truth when it was transparently obvious that his younger partner had cheated on him.

To the day he died, Q would never stop regretting.

To the day he died, Bond swore he would never forgive.

-

They had not expected to see one another again. Q had a different world and a different life; they had met when Q was an upstart university student, barely eighteen.

Over a decade had passed since then, and Q was still terrifyingly young and remarkably naïve and remarkably bitter, and Bond could have eaten him alive but didn’t.

The ‘why’ escaped him, but he supposed he would understand eventually.

“Hello James,” Q had said, in a voice Bond remembered, and he crushed the hatred back because it was extremely unhelpful when  _apparently_ , Q was his new Quartermaster.

Bond swallowed back the name that sat on the tip of his tongue, and simply said: “Q.”

Q looked over him, green eyes as explorative and perfect as ever, and smiled. “It’s been a long time,” he murmured. “How are you?”

It was very difficult to make words form. Most of them seemed painfully false; Bond was fine, yes, but not where Q was concerned. He had never been truly ‘fine’ about him, about all that had happened, and he  _missed_  Q. He had missed Q for about a decade now.

“You’re my Quartermaster?” he asked instead, for clarity, and tried not to notice the way Q’s expression crunched inwards slightly, his answering nod. “Good. You did well for yourself.”

Q’s smile was tempered now, sadder, eyes shadowed. “Indeed. You too. I read your files – you’ve done so well, and just… my god, James. I need to give you equipment, but I just want to establish that our… that we won’t have any difficulty in our working relationship as a result of our…”

“I’m a professional, as you are,” Bond interjected, very quickly indeed. “This will not interrupt. It’s good to see you again, Q. Now…”

“Yes,” Q nodded, reaching into his jacket. “Plane tickets, a Walther, and a radio.”

“Not exactly Christmas…”

“The gun is coded to your palm print, and frankly, given your propensity to damage everything in the vicinity, I’m not giving you anything more exciting until I know you won’t trash it. A pleasure, double-oh seven. Now, I’ll see you in Q-branch upon your return. Farewell.”

“Indeed,” Bond murmured, and watched Q walk away.


	526. Chapter 526

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write a prompt where Q gets a crush on Bond when Bond starts spending a lot of time with Q (watching movies, playing pool/pingpong, etc.) except when Q tells Bond that he likes him, Bond says “I’m not looking for a relationship right now, sorry”? Thank you. – anon

It had been going so well.

Q had enjoyed himself so much, for all the time they had spent together; Bond had too, and they were very good friends, as it happened. On Q’s sofa, bare feet on the coffee table with Q cradling tea and Bond a whiskey, watching ridiculous television programmes and Q laughing at Bond’s somewhat befuddled expression.

It was on one of those evenings when Q finally broached the subject. Made the jump, swallowed pride, and given it a damn good go when he truly hadn’t believed he would ever manage it.

Bond had looked at him, and smiled slightly. “Q, I’m sorry to say this, but I’m honestly not in a place for a relationship,” he managed, as tactfully as he was able. “I actually care about you a great deal, but I can’t, right now. Maybe a lot later, but not right now.”

Q glanced at him for a moment, and nodded. “Okay, he murmured. “I’m… look, I’m not going to pretend I’m not disappointed, but…”

Bond placed a hand carefully on Q’s, and just looked at him for a while.

“It’s alright,” Q said honestly. “Seriously. Thought I’d ask.”

They returned attention to the TV, and nothing more was said on the matter.

-

When it happened, it happened entirely accidently.

Bond hadn’t expected it, but Q had been laughing at the time. Just in a bar actually, post-work drinks, Bond was back from a somewhat bizarre mission in Hawaii, and they had gone to Bond’s favourite bar, and Q was several drinks down and laughing over something relatively banal.

Bond had kissed him, and Q had responded without any compunctions.

“I’m guessing you’re ready?” Q murmured against his lips.

Bond smiled against him, and nodded slightly.

Q grinned, and pulled him ever closer.


	527. Chapter 527

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful fills <3 I love how often you update - there’s always something to read! Anyways, for a prompt: James is really possessive and territorial over his boyfriend Q, which often leads to rough sex when they return home. At first Q is thrilled with being wanted so much but it gets to the point where Q starts to avoid being alone with others because he’s scared of how James will react. I’d like if they were able to talk it out eventually, but lots of angst, please! – anon

Q’s smile quirked, but he couldn’t quite manage to make it live fully. “It’s alright,” he said lightly, nodding a little uncomfortably, eyes a touch wider than expected. “I… look, I just need to get home. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

R glanced over him, evidently concerned, but knowing enough to not do anything just yet. It wasn’t her place. “Bond’s arriving soon, I take it?”

This time, Q’s smile looked a little more genuine, and he nodded.

R retreated, and was replaced by Bond only a handful of minutes later. “Hey,” Q said, a little tiredly. “I…”

“Just R?” Bond asked, in a half-mocking tone that Q didn’t quite know how to read.

It was difficult to be anything  _but_  tired any more, not when Bond was like this, not when it was more than possible that he would overreact and Q would wind up pinned against their bed.

Bond was not cruel, he was not in any sense abusive – but he was rough, and he was possessive, and Q never quite knew how far it would go. He was a bloody double-oh agent, it was good to be wary, and Bond did occasionally frighten.

This time, he didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, and Q’s expression crumpled a little because for  _fuck’s_  sake, he would have really liked to go out for drinks with R, but he just couldn’t these days when he was scared.

“James, we need to talk.”

Bond’s eyebrows quirked. “Oh?”

Q let out a slow breath, and his shoulders relaxed, just a little. “I know you’re possessive, and I know… I know you’ve had bad experiences, but I just,  _fuck_ , you’re beginning to scare me a bit. I never know how you’re going to respond, and I don’t ever go out any more because of it…”

There was nothing in the world that could make Q feel guiltier than Bond’s expression in that moment. He looked like a betrayed child. “I’m so sorry,” he said simply, softly. “I am… fuck, I’m sorry. Q, I never meant…”

Q shook his head, quickly locking arms around Bond, apologies spilling from his lips. “No, James, don’t… I just needed to say, I couldn’t handle it any more…”

Bond was actually shaking slightly, eyes wide, truly horrified as Q held onto him. “I’ll be careful,” he said honestly, frankly. “I’ll… just, tell me if I get it wrong. I promise, though, I’ll make it alright. I’ll make it okay.”

“Love you,” Q told him gently. “Don’t worry. It’ll be alright. Really – I love you, and it’ll be alright.”


	528. Chapter 528

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Considering Bond is officially down on the books as a Naval Commander, would it be possible to have a period naval AU, with Bond in command of a sloop-of-war, please? Maybe Alec could be his lieutenant. – anon

Bond stood proudly, looking every inch the master and commander he had become; after years of trudging on smaller vessels, he had been placed in direct command of a lovely eighteen-gun ketch, and – although he was every inch a consummate professional – he was ridiculously excitable, in a way only his closest friend and second-in-command could actually see.

Alec Trevelyan had been Bond’s friend since their earliest days in the Navy, and smirked as he watched Bond. “Are we ready?” he asked casually, eyebrow raised.

For a long moment, Bond didn’t even notice Alec had spoken. He couldn’t quite believe he had finally been permitted his freedom, in however loose-woven a sense.

“Ahem?” Alec commented drily.

In front of him, a slim boy landed, straightening almost instantly; he was the ship’s rat, a slight young thing that could easily skim up and down masts or sails, half-fly on ropes, a creative and extremely efficient boy.

“Q?”  
“Ready sir,” he replied, his voice oddly soft; he was not the type to be in a ship in that manner, the crisp consonants and suggestion of education, but Bond didn’t ask the questions. It was probably wisest to only enquire once they had set sail.

He was very beautiful.

Bond glanced away, only to find Alec watching him, literally not bothering to hide his amusement. “Attitude, lieutenant,” Bond griped at him. “Q, go.  _All hands on deck_.”

The crew scurried, Alec mercifully included, and Bond watched them move – including the rather lithe creature whom Bond was about seventy percent certain was _not_  wholly male – and wondered how he had formed such a collection of bloody renegades, grinning despite himself as said renegades proved themselves more than worthy, and they began to finally move.


	529. Chapter 529

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hm… I’ve been having an idea for a prompt! I’m thinking maybe like, King!Bond, and Servant!Q. King Bond has been trying to pursue Q, a royal servant. (Maybe a Stable boy?) Q objects every time, but Bond refuses to stop. Also, maybe Bond could get jealous at Q talking to one of the knights or something? I don’t know, anything’s good! – anon

Q hushed the horse with a soothing voice and a wink, nuzzling his nose in closer, elegant fingers spread wide across its smooth nose, and pretended to ignore the voice behind him that was still speaking, an arrogant half-smirk playing out across his face.

King Bond was an unmitigated nightmare, and Q refused to fall for his various tricks (or so the story went), and while the man  was a horrendous flirt and definitely had more power than Q wanted to think of, he was stronger-willed than the King.

Fingers played across his shoulder-blades, and Q jumped back in absolute horror. “Sir, please,” he said, tone aggrieved, and actually quite annoyed; he had broken the rules, the ridiculous rules wherein Bond did  _not_  touch and Q did  _not_  respond, and that was _not fair_  of him.

Bond never played by the rules though, so Q really should not have been that surprised.

So, Q broke the rules, too.

Bond walked into the stables to find his favourite stable boy making very pretty eyes at none other than Sir bloody Lancelot, whom he happened to hate, and Sir Lancelot was doing the precise same back.

It was extremely tempting to kill the man. The blond Russian with gorgeous hair and defined muscles and everything Bond was, only he happened to be a twat from time to time (and  _yes_ , they had known each other since they were children, and that was _entirely why_  Bond was justified in calling him a twat).

“ _Q_.”

Alec Lancelot was grinning.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Bond growled at him.

Lancelot’s smile was all teeth and all terrifying. “By all means, your Highness.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Your Highness?”

Bond pushed him against the stable door, Q’s expression falling slightly, nervous. “Q,” Bond said firmly. “Do you like me?”

Q blinked, very still. “Obviously. I thought we had established that?”

“You’re  _extremely_  impertinent for a stable boy.”

“I thought we had established that, too.”

Bond smiled.

Q kissed him.


	530. Chapter 530

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi ^^ I saw these prompts for the first time on AO3 and I was like ”amazing! 300 prompts! O_O”. So I come with another one: Q is a ‘posh liar’ as James often thinks. Two years since they’re togheter and Q can’t help telling 2 lies out of 3 when he’s speaking. He can’t help it. Of course, at work he keeps it at minimum, but at home James always has to read between the lines, until one day… [free reign for your imagination, or: surprise me!^^]. – meinposhbastard

“… no strike that, hang on. Sorry, James. Let’s try that again – I can’t go out next week because I’m behind on a lot of work for my budget meeting next week. Nothing to do with weapons testing. Fuck, James…”

Bond was immensely used to him. Q was a near enough compulsive liar; not a very admirable trait, but something he was relatively used to after two years and more lies than Bond had managed to utter in his entire life to date.

It was not malice. It was nothing, really, beyond Q’s mind running a long way away from him, and him chasing it merrily before realising he was knee-deep in lies and couldn’t get himself out again.

Honestly, Bond had no idea how much Q had told him was even vaguely true.

Not the basis for the most solid of relationships, but they had established early on that if Q was going to keep on lying – which he couldn’t really prevent, most of the time, it just kept on happening – he needed to amend everything important, and Bond would not stand for lies on anything of importance.

Q was trying, he truly was.

The worst part was, quite simply, that as a liar he needed facts to base it on – and thus, he couldn’t cope with liars. He could not cope with Bond lying at all, because it destabilised the last of what he could hold to be true; when his world was continually knotted, choked with lies, he needed something consistent to cling onto with whatever broken insistence he had left, and keep himself afloat.

‘Everything important’ was quite a wide-ranging sentiment. In fact, it was something they had needed to define, more than once, because the goalposts kept on changing. “Q, calm,” Bond told him softly. “You’re doing fine.”

Of course, Q hated it. “James…”

“I’m not angry, and I just want to know whether you want me to cook,” Bond told him flatly. “Write down plans for the next week. Just facts. I don’t need explanations. We can deal with everything from there.”

Q watched him for a moment. “I love you,” he murmured, and it was one of the few things Bond never doubted was truth. “I’m so sorry, James.”

Bond kissed him gently. It wasn’t okay, not by a long stretch, but it was better than it had been, and better than Bond had initially believed it could be; with a lifetime of being lied to, Bond had thought he would never be able to cope with the young man’s repetitive, insistent lying.

“We’ll work it out,” Bond told him gently. “I love you too, you know that. It’ll be alright.”


	531. Chapter 531

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been reading your fills for a while now, and absolutely love them. Could I get a fem!Q where she’s one of (the surprisingly large) number of women who can’t orgasm? She fakes with Bond, but (s)he knows. How Bond reacts is up to you! Thanks x – anon

Q let out a series of light, shuddering gasps, and fell still.

Bond raised an eyebrow, hands stopping, sliding away from Q’s body with a slightly curious expression. “Are you alright?”

It was very tiring, trying to spend time in bed with somebody – and enjoying oneself tremendously – without bruising their ego. Q loved being with Bond, truly and honestly did, but the woman was  _known_  for being stellar in bed, and she  _was_ , but Q knew full damn well that she couldn’t orgasm. It wasn’t anything against Bond; it was just, very simply, that her body wasn’t built that way.

Thus, a paper smile. “No, that was…”

Bond smiled very slightly. “Q, you’ve clearly done that before, but I’m not sure I buy it. I may be wrong, but – am I right in saying you just faked that?”

Q blinked, and blushed from the tip of her toes upwards. “I…”

“Q, it’s alright,” she laughed, brushing a kiss against her lips, over her throat. “I know. Believe me, I know. I’ve done it enough times…”

“… I can’t,” Q admitted, very quickly, not looking at Bond. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry, it’s not you, it’s just…”

Bond lifted an elegant finger, and placed it against Q’s lips. “Q –  _I know_ ,” she repeated, a little more emphatically, and sighed a little. “Look, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to help you enjoy yourself. Orgasm isn’t the be-all.”

Q was still blushing slightly, skin warm to the touch, burrowing into the duvet. “I don’t want you to be bored.”

It was actively difficult to not roll her eyes slightly; Bond smiled instead, running a flat hand along the planes of Q’s body, the soft edges of breasts, skimming a palm over her nipples, hesitating over the sharp spokes of her hipbones. “What do  _you_  like?” Bond asked, in a low purr, leaning in to Q’s ear, nipping at her earlobe. “Telling me to fuck off is absolutely fine, by the way.”

“Of all things, I will never have an issue with that,” Q laughed, and arched her back off the bed slightly to get a little more, a harder touch, a better angle. “That. What you’re doing there.”

Bond smiled, and began to explore, taking out everything she could from Q’s body. “Beautiful,” Bond told her appreciatively, tongue darting along nerves, along arteries. “Question – do you have a vibe?”

Q’s hand flew to the side, grappling at her bedside table; Bond took over, given that Q had no glasses, and delved for the familiar shape. “That’s  _nice_ ,” she commented, as she found Q’s toy. “So show me.”

“What?!”

“Show me,” Bond repeated easily, hair falling loose around her shoulders, Q watching her with quiet disbelief. “Show me what you actually  _want_.”

Q’s fingers tightened around the vibe, letting out a soft noise of want, and kissed Bond deeper than she knew she could as she did precisely that.


	532. Chapter 532

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My prompt is - Q isn’t very good at taking care of himself (don’t mind if it’s due to some deep-seated issue or not) + nobody can get thro’ to him. Except Bond. Bond starts bringing him food, taking him home + cooking for him, even taking him out for meals. There’s some awkward UST but eventually they end up together – anon

Q was tangibly exhausted, hands shaking very slightly as he worried over and around his keyboard, jaw trembling, eyes falling shut without intention, barely focusing.

He didn’t really notice somebody helping him up, coaxing him into walking; he could barely support weight, dozing off as somebody lifted him into their arms, cradled his body in a way that was caring but not too intimate, and Q woke up on his sofa with a mug of tea and a large bowl of pasta on the table. “S’going on?” he mumbled.

“I took you home,” a voice told him firmly, calmly. “You’ve been damned irresponsible, Q.”

Q lifted his head slightly, blinking languidly; his stomach rolled, and he reached out nervelessly towards the pasta. “Again?” he asked wearily, fingers finally gaining purchase on the bowl, getting it to his lap. “Sorry, Bond.”

“James.”

“Bond,” Q corrected, as he did every time. As  _they_  did every time.

A moment or two, and Q speared pasta, eating slowly.

“You don’t like pasta,” he noted after a moment, in vague confusion.

Bond sat opposite him, legs crossed. “I’m not the one eating it,” he pointed out, with a slight smirk. “I ate earlier. I  _ate_ , which is more than can be said for you. Q, this is getting stupid now, I swear it’s getting worse rather than better.”

Q rolled his eyes, and kept on happily spearing pasta with great enthusiasm. “S’lovely, by the way,” he told Bond happily. “I do appreciate it, promise. I am trying, too. I really am. I just forget.”

“Well  _don’t forget_ ,” Bond said firmly. “I can’t keep bailing you out.”

Q looked up at him like an insulted child. “Not fair,” he mumbled. “I’m doing my best.”

Bond leaned in, stroked down Q’s cheek with a single finger. “Do better,” he murmured simply, and left.

-

Bond walked to Q’s office door, more than prepared to haul the overworked young man away, deposit him with food and tuck him in bed and force him to actually damn well look after himself.

Instead, he found Q lying in his armchair, completely and utterly asleep, with a bag of takeaway in front of him, almost entirely cold.

And on it, a post-it note.

_I remembered_.


	533. Chapter 533

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know, i really can’t stop asking, and i’m an awful and needy person. but you are quite very exceptional, so i guess it’s your fault… you know, for being amazing and such. yeah, that’s probably it. anyway, i was thinking about Q’s love for tea, and in my head i have this ongoing canon that whenever he needs to think something thoroughly he puts on a japanese tea ceremony (with a kimono and all), but he doesn’t tell anyone for fear of being considered even more of a weirdo. no wonder, that’s what he does when he has to decide whether or not to go out with Bond -what he doesn’t know is that Bond sees him, and finds the whole thing absolutely fascinating. — fridatwin

Q was dressed impeccably, looking immensely calm and very much in control, kimono tied in place and expression the embodiment of tranquillity.

Bond watched with quiet interest. Q had no idea he was there, which was rather the point; Bond had known for a while that there was something Q was neglecting to tell him, or talk about, and so had waited quite happily for the opportune moment to break into Q’s flat and wait to see what the fuss was all about.

A tea ceremony, as it turned out.

Work had been stressful, and Bond knew that. Holidays were a nightmare, conventionally; terrorists tended to like targeting times of year that were intended to be peaceful and joyous. Dramatic irony, and simply proving a point.

Q had asked to leave, go home for a few hours. This had been met with general shock – Q  _never_  left MI6, even when life was calm – and Bond had, predictably, followed.

To conduct a private tea ceremony.

“James, you can come out now.”

Bond had to admit to being impressed; Q had his eyes closed, was in what could only be described as a form of meditative trance, and didn’t actually  _open_  his eyes, even when Bond walked in. “Q…”

“I do this to help me think. We all have our methods,” he explained, voice somehow lulling. “I would ask that you do not criticise? I have been extremely concerned as to your response.”

Bond sat opposite. He had been taught the ritual years previously, had needed it on a number of occasions in Japan; he let his body relax, body straight, and faced the other participant. “I like it,” he said simply.

Q opened his eyes, smiling. “Not too weird, then?”

“You’re the oddest man I will ever know, and I love it,” Bond told him, very frankly; Q’s grin lit up the room, eyes sliding shut again as the smell of tea permeated the room, and Q’s brain tripped along whatever links he required, fingers itching, rising to an inexorable peak while Bond watched with quiet interest, and wondered how he had managed to be so lucky.


	534. Chapter 534

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond does push ups while Q sits on his back with no problems. – anon

Q was sitting on Bond.

Bond had asked him to, but that wasn’t really the point; it still looked ridiculously odd to Tanner, as he walked into Q’s office. “Good afternoon, Quartermaster. Double-oh seven.”

“Afternoon,” Q said brightly, head bobbing behind his desk while Bond grunted something that was presumably supposed to be a reply. “How is everything, Bill?”

Tanner watched Q rise and descend, and sighed slightly.

Q tapped out a few more lines on his laptop, cross-legged, quietly contented and very contemplative. “Q, I need some of the more recent Walther modification blueprints, health and safety…”

“… interfering tossers…”

“… need a look, and the…

“… can’t be dealing with this…”

“… I…”

“ _Shut up a minute_.”

Silence.

Bond finished his set, moved, and Q toppled off Bond’s back with a great lack of style, arms in the air to protect his ipad, landing on his back like a turtle. “I hate you,” he griped, just before Bond picked him up.

“I hate you too,” Bond told Q amiably, and picked him up, plopping him inelegantly into his desk chair. “Sorry Bill, go on.”

To Tanner’s credit, he didn’t even blink.

He was still halfway through explanations as Bond sauntered out of the room, shirtless.


	535. Chapter 535

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I have a prompt. I just heard the song”Born to Die” by Lana Del Rey and instantly thought of Q and Bond. No sad though, I need fluff, lots and lots of fluff. ~teamks~

Q laughed, hand linked with Bond’s, smiling as they were talked through the absurdity of Bond’s most recent mission; M was relatively annoyed, but the mission had been an overall success, and Q was happy to do whatever he needed to keep Bond safe and keep his world safe.

“I love you, James,” he said quietly, when M had gone, when they were on their own, fingers tracing over Bond’s newest wound, his latest hurt. “I’m sorry.”

Bond’s fingers moved under his chin, tilted his chin upwards, ensured their eyes met and they were focused, a form of true and honest intensity trailing between them, and _oh_ , Q was beautiful.

They were so close to dying. So painfully close.

“Don’t be,” Q returned honestly. “It’s us. This is who we are, James Bond. You and I. We’re dying by inches.”

“Every night.”

“How glamorous,” Q laughed, and kissed him softly. “You and I. Aren’t we extraordinary, Mr Bond?”

Bond smiled, thumb brushing over Q’s cheekbone, falling for him by inches, and took him apart as best he could. “You truly are,” he murmured, leaning in.

Kissing him.

“I love you too, by the way.”

Q smiled like the sun, so bright, so beautifully bright, so  _blindingly_  bright.

They were going to die before they were forty. They knew that. Everybody knew that, for god’s sake, it was practically written into their contracts.

The important aspect was this:

Every single employee was intent on living everything they had, before dying. Everything. With a liquid intensity that moved from moment to moment, and allowed everything to glint in a thousand  _million_  colours before they faded out, before dying out like the tremulous lives they extinguished day after day.

By Q’s estimations, five people died, as an  _absolute minimum_ , per day of MI6 operations.

That was an optimistic estimation.

Q and Bond were subject to the same laws of frailty that every single operative had. They could die in a heartbeat through the most unexpected of means, and they  _knew that_ , they were prepared for that.

Loving one another was not helpful, but it had happened. It was best that way.

The lights were extinguished one by one.

Q and Bond held onto one another, while every other light went out.


	536. Chapter 536

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heeello ladies, i was just wondering if you were up for fluff today because i want the fluffiest birthday fic for Q, in celebration of ben whishaw’s birthday today! thank you so much <3 – anon

Q nuzzled into Bond’s side, yawning expansively. “’lo’,” he mumbled, making tiny noises of discontent at being woken up. “You ‘kay?”

“Happy birthday!”

Q made a noise of absolute contempt, and all but buried himself in Bond’s side. “M’not coming out,” he said frankly, muffled by blanket and bicep. “Never. Ever ever. Sleepy.”

Bond smiled, fingers gently pulling through tangled strands of dark hair, tender and gentle, while Q refused to come out. “I know,” he murmured fondly. “But I have cake, and presents. You’re getting up.”

“M’ _not_.”

“Then no presents.”

For a grown man, Q had a habit of fixing the most appalling of bereft expressions on his face, and sniffling slightly as he looked at his lover. “Not fair,” he said, with absolute betrayal, eyes  _enormous_. “I’m just  _sleepy_.”

“You’re acting like a six-year-old,” Bond told him, with a slight laugh, kissing Q softly. “Q…”

“I have a day off work. An actual honest-to-god  _day off_ , and you’re making me get up.”

“I have plans!”

Q  _still_  looked horrified, if not more so than before. “You actually intend to make me leave the house?” he asked, with a vague sniffle, eyes looking very slightly glossy. “James, that’s not  _fair_.”

Another kiss; Q was still mildly disgruntled, but conceded defeat easily enough. “I’ll make it worthwhile,” he murmured gently, and bopped Q gently on the nose. “Honestly. Q, it’s your  _birthday_. I just want to make today special.”

“I’m old. Woop.”

“Stop it.”

“Okay:  _woop_ ,” Q corrected, with more emphasis and infinitely more sarcasm. “James, this is ridiculous.”

Bond pulled out of the bed; Q let out a noise like a strangled cat, which Bond duly ignored, given Q’s propensity for such alarming noises which very,  _very_  rarely meant anything in practise.

He returned, two minutes later, with cake. And candles.

“I thought this was supposed to happen later in the day?” Q asked, as Bond hummed happy birthday under his breath.

The candles should have made Bond look older. Cast shadows in the wrong place, highlighted the exhaustion, the wrinkles.

Instead, he looked somehow infinitely more  _alive_ , as he was now. Watching Q with a quiet and understated joy, love; something Q could only just see, couldn’t quite grasp, certainly couldn’t begin to understand.

“Love you,” Q told him instead, with all honesty.

Bond smiled. “Happy birthday,” he returned simply, and Q blew the candles out.


	537. Chapter 537

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey This is my first promt, Could you write somthing involving bond and his parents. ..I know they died when bond was young but I would love to see somthing involving q or even bond coming out, I will leave the rest to you :) Thanks Adam x – the-howard-effect

It wasn’t a conversation he had ever anticipated. It had been so easy, a few girls, awkward dinners, watching his mother laughing with them for dubious reasons, talking to his father. The Talk. His childhood had hardly been a happy, conventional affair, but at least they could relate on that basis.

No one had told him about what might happen if it was a man he was taking home. If it was a man who suddenly had to meet his parents, whom he had to understand. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of himself, and certainly not of Q; but it didn’t stop the sheer terror of the concept. He had taken a few weeks to come to terms with the idea of being attracted to the man himself, further months to work up the nerve to ask him out, before resigning himself to google and prayer.

Eventually, he had managed to tell them. Sat them down, cooked dinner in the obnoxiously oversized kitchen, and taken his place amongst the high backed chairs and wall hangings.

Work was going well, no he couldn’t give details, yes he was being careful, yes he would bring mummy some of the nice silk she liked next time he was in India. No more war wounds (that they needed to know of), and no, he wasn’t dating that nice girl from the office.

“I’m dating my quartermaster.”

Finally.

Bond could feel the tension melting; in place of what he had hoped would be relief, he found the sense of imminent nausea.

They didn’t understand.

“The young man who…?”

Yes, the young man who had been at the party. Yes, the one who looked about sixteen – he was in his late twenties! The one they had found irritating, the one who was mildly camp, very polite, had a slightly obsequious smile and a peculiar dress sense.

_… Q._

Yes. Q. For nearly a year.

_But what happened to ___? I know you are still upset over Vesper, but they’re not all like that…_

I know.

_I just don’t understand…_

I didn’t expect you to.

_Why would you go ahead and tell us? Did we do something wrong?_

I was just hoping you could meet him. He wants to meet you.

_It’s just a lot to take in._

I know.

_We’ll get used to it_.

I know.

_I’m sorry, James_.

Yes.

Me too.


	538. Chapter 538

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) I love all the prompts! They’re simply wonderful :) Is this where I go to make a prompt? It’s ok if you’re busy or have already done something like this, but could you do one where maybe Bond and Q have a date to a sports game (like basketball or whatever) but they had a fight right before about Bond and girls on missions. And then there’s a kiss cam and there’s fluff. It would make my day :) – anon

As if the day couldn’t get any bloody worse.

Two days ago, under threat of early retirement, Q had found himself forced onto a private jet and flown to America. The CIA needed some assistance; it had to be onsite, and it had to be the best. M had tried to sell it as a holiday, and his partner was mercifully allowed to come along as bodyguard; they had gone all out, tickets to no less than three Broadway shows, tours, dinners and of course, a trip to a baseball game.

It had been going relatively smoothly. Q had taken enough medication to knock out a relatively large antelope for the flight over, and had awoken in full air conditioned splendour. Book of Mormon was excellent and his CIA counterpart even seemed relatively competent. The hotel room was well sound proofed and James had ordered champagne and cookie-dough flavoured lubricant.

Then came Shelly. And Francesca. And Lynn. All three CIA agents and all three having one thing in common – they had all woken up with James Bond in their beds. None of them were particularly unpleasant, but all three had been a mixture of shock and amusement at Bond’s latest choice of companion.

Shelly: “It was for work – I needed information and she gave it to me!”

Francesca: “I was bored out of my mind, we were both lonely, it was long before you even graduated university!”

Lynn: “A genuine mark!”

Q was very quiet, very tired. “She’s very beautiful,” he said simply, and Bond had nothing he could say.

Three hours of an age-old argument, and he was still meant to enjoy the  _bloody_ wannabe rounders match.

“I’m sorry,” Bond tried eventually, returning with a large platter of nachos. “Q, I love you. But it is part of my job. If I need information, I need information. And often it’s a good way of acquiring it.”

“So you’re now a whore too?” Q asked, almost casually. Absentmindedly, even.

Bond froze slightly, letting out a slow breath, angry beyond comprehension. “Q. This is part of the job. You  _know that_. Yes, if that makes me a whore, then  _fine_ , but don’t you dare call me things like that when you are…”

He cut off abruptly, as Q’s head snapped to him. “Yes?”

“I am not going to have a fight about this right now,” Bond told him slowly, carefully. “I’m done. Q, do you want to be with me or not?”

Q stared at him, and Bond – to his credit – stared right back, entirely unapologetic. “Yes,” he said eventually, quietly. “Of course I  _bloody_  do, James. I just don’t want to feel like I’m another notch on a bedpost.”

“Do I  _ever_  make you feel like that?”

Q looked at him for a moment, quiet. “No,” he admitted softly. “Please understand though, James. I hate this.”

Bond watched him, the nachos sogging into the cardboard holder. “I hate it too,” he returned honestly. “I’m sorry, Q.”

Q kissed him quickly, chastely. “Me too,” he replied sadly, and leant into Bond’s side, letting the warmth seep in, both letting the subject sink to the back of one’s mind for as long as humanly possible.


	539. Chapter 539

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so cruel to Q sometimes (and I LOVE it!). Could I get some major Q!Whump? Anything you choose, I just need Q to be crying and just totally /done/ with everything? Thank you! (: - anon

Q slumped.

No tears; everything was numb now. Tears had long since passed, the tracks remaining across sallow cheeks, bruised sockets, red-rimmed and fuck,  _fuck_  he was tired, just too tired to think any more.

Nobody was coming.

It was difficult to remember  _why_  he kept on fighting, what in the flaming hell the _point_  was any more, when he was being left to fester somewhere, his corpse ready to be retrieved from somewhere suitably unpleasant in however many pieces.

The thought of dying had never been particularly horrible, but  _now_ , now it was. When the knowledge of what somebody could do for a body pre-mortem was so extensive and so disgusting, the idea of what would be done to him later was terrifying.

Q didn’t want to die. He knew that, as a point of certainty.

Words trickled from his mouth, pleas for anything, something.

They wanted information. Information that he  _bloody well had_.

Fuck, Q just wanted everything to stop.

Another rib snapped, and Q just toppled to one side and lay there, stranded.

Doors crashed, wood splintered, bodies fell and there were gunshots everywhere, absolutely everywhere, and Q just didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just blinked languidly and watched through myopic distortion as bodies flooded the room, and his bloodied fingers twitched in metal handcuffs, not looking up at somebody loomed close to him.

“Q?”

Q blinked again, and felt tears slide along his cheeks. A different angle, now he was lying on his side. He supposed it must look odd. It had to be odd.

“ _Q_. Look at me.”

It was easy enough to do as ordered.

The face was recognisable, but not to Q any more. Somebody from a life he half-remembered, a world he had known so long ago and didn’t want to know any more. It wasn’t him any more, the person who had recognised this face, had known how to respond to nothing more than an initial and actually cared enough to try.

“Q, we’re getting you out of here.”

Q didn’t respond.

His eyes slid away from the face.

Closed.


	540. Chapter 540

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a sudden vision of Bond watching recordings of Q being interrogated. Q is holding up really extremely well. The particular vision I had is of the captor (almost lovingly) holding a boxed juice for Q (whose hands are tied) to drink, and when Q is done sipping from the straw, the captor backhands him so hard, and yet Q manages to chuckle and refuses to tell them anything. MI6 rescues him just in time (with Bond in tow, of course). :) – anon

Q watched with quiet interest as the man came closer, holding a boxed apple juice; he sighed slightly, as the man stabbed a straw in, and showed the whole box. Presumably in some rather futile dream of convincing Q there was nothing in the way of poison or other drugs.

Naturally, Q was very aware that there was nothing in the juice. There would be no _point_  in putting anything in the juice.

Bond watched Q watch his captor, and couldn’t quite believe just how well his quartermaster was holding out. They had beaten him to hell and back, he hadn’t slept in about three days, and could probably stomach very little more than apple juice, as it happened.

The straw was pushed towards his lips, and Q leaned in slightly; his captor cupped the back of his head, keeping him drawn close, letting Q empty the box.

“Thank you,” Q returned politely.

His captor raised an eyebrow, and backhanded him with quite remarkable force.

Bond’s hand tightened, clenching into a tight fist, knuckles white.

Q was in a slight curled knot to one side, and breathing harshly, body trembling very slightly as he recomposed himself.

He straightened slightly, blood leaking from a previously split lip, eyes sparkling but devoid of tears.

Bond watched with fascination, with utter pride, as Q grinned – and actually had the audacity to snort with laughter. “Fuck off,” he managed, with sheer content. “Changes nothing. Until later, gentlemen.”

It was tempting both to applaud, and to slap Q for being idiotic enough to irritate his captors. Always an immensely bad idea.

It was another four days before Bond broke in. By that stage, Q was still being sarcastic, but only when he was either conscious or had the energy to do so.

Bond shot everybody, found Q, grinned at the sight of him. “Yes, I know, m’n’idiot,” Q mumbled, through a fair amount of blood, looking up at Bond apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Definitely should be,” Bond agreed, shaking his head slightly. “Daring and brave and utterly fucking  _moronic_. I love you, Q, but please don’t do that again.”

Q smiled foggily. “’kay. Can I pass out now?”

“Of course,” Bond returned politely, and held onto Q as he did so.


	541. Chapter 541

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if its at all possible i um maybe James could be a god who got bored and became the mi6 agent but Q doesn’t know that James isn’t human and cant die. he wont start a relationship with him thinking it would hurt more when James died if they where dating maybe James sets him strait on that ummm happy ending ? yes please? – anon

Q watched him with such soft, awful sadness. “I can’t,” he returned quietly, stroking soft, eloquent fingers along Bond’s skin. “I’m so sorry, James. I want to, but I just can’t.”

“Why?” Bond asked, feeling his world slide from under his feet.

Q’s smile was heartbreaking. “I can’t watch you die.”

-

Bond moved forward, extending a hand out to Q. “I want to show you something.”

Q glanced over him, nodded. “Go on,” he agreed with a vague sigh, and let Bond guide him to standing. “This had better not have anything to do with…”

Bond placed a finger against his lips, and smiled slightly.

What happened next was something Q would never forget for the rest of his life.

As he watched, Bond shot himself.

Literally. He placed a gun under his chin, and pulled the trigger.

The noise was breathtaking, Q threw up, Bond looked horrified at the inspired reaction before scooping Q into his arms, the younger man trembling terribly. “The  _fuck_  just happened, what the  _fuck_  the  _fuck_ just happened, James,  _what_ …”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking through Q’s hair gently. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have… look, that was misconceived.”

“You fucking  _think_?! What was that, some fucked-up magic trick?”

“No,” Bond corrected, with some shock. “No – Q, I can’t die.”

Q looked at him. Just stared, for a very long time. “What?”

“I’m immortal,” Bond told him, eyes a little wide. “I thought that much was obvious.”

“Not as such.”

“Q…”

“ _You just fucking shot yourself_.”

“ _Q_ …”

“Oh god,” Q managed, with a slight whimper. “You shot yourself. Shot yourself.”

“But I’m still here,” he pointed out gently. “This is… I can be with you, Q. You won’t have to watch me die.”

Q literally just stared at him. “And you thought the best way to deal with that would be to  _try to kill yourself in front of me_?!”

Bond was quiet for a moment, trying to find words. “Yes?” he managed, a little hesitantly. “I’m guessing…”

Q punched him. “Never,  _never_  do that again,” he snapped lividly.

Bond nodded, suitably chastened, and let out a strange noise of strangled shock as Q kissed him.


	542. Chapter 542

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q loves cats, and they seem to obey him. Eve finds out and starts teasing him, making everybody call him Supreme Kitten Overlord, but apparently he doesn’t give a flying fuck: he knows nobody think about LIONS being in the same family… — fridatwin

Q yawned, aware of the movement, but not overly concerned about the whole affair.

Until Bond moved.

Then, Q was utterly limpeted, clinging onto his lover with impressive strength, nuzzling into the man’s chest. Bond felt a small part of him melt at the sight. Dark curls were strewn about Q’s forehead, the lines born of worry and frustration momentarily smoothed by sleep.

It had never really come up at work; Q branch did not have many resident cats. It was only when Eve visited Q in his flat did she notice. He had three of his own, beautiful creatures, all three had apparently been strays that had sort of wandered in and never bothered to leave, absolutely adored the young quartermaster, swirled around his legs like clouds and haunted him in every movement. The Quartermaster couldn’t sit down without at least one cat instantly pouncing on his lap, the others joining or standing guard.

The nickname was then set out. SKO was scrawled across reports and his desk. Q, to his credit, barely batted an eyelid as his various minions began to refer to him as ‘my lord’ in passing, and M laughed for ten solid minutes at the term ‘Supreme Kitten Overlord’. Q seemed perfectly happy to nod and smile along to all the jokes, even winking at Bond when he found a small pair of cat ears on his laptop.

It was only when Bond found himself in a zoo with the man did he find out why. As covert meetings went, this was one of the more interesting places. Noisy, busy, odd, it worked well to transfer equipment without anybody noticing.

Bond sat on one of the small benches, right in front of one of the various enclosures. There was nothing to be seen; everything around him was eating, fucking or sleeping. Bond was doing the first, thinking of the second and in dire need of the third.

He almost choked on his crisps when the first lioness appeared, practically launching herself at the glass, prowling, eyes directly on Bond.

The second lioness was disconcerting, and when there was three of them, Bond was  strongly considering his weaponry.

"The females are more dangerous," a cool voice commented from behind him. Bond jumped, looking around to see a delighted Q. "Males tend to be lazier…"

"You.  _You’re_  doing this?!” Bond asked in transparent shock, looking from Q to the lionesses with nothing short of horror. All three were watching Q with satisfied expressions, practically waiting for a belly rub from the new arrival.

"I have no idea what you mean 007," Q told him, smirk firmly in place. "Now, your equipment…"


	543. Chapter 543

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a widower with a 12 year old daughter he completely adores. Bond has trouble understanding her obsession with fantasy novels, but when he has to watch her one day, he discovers she has a vast knowledge of medieval weaponry so he takes her shooting. – anon

"Darling, can you grab the butter out of the fridge?" Q called.

Bond was reduced to watching meekly as Q whizzed around the small kitchen, getting some jacket potatoes ready. “Can I help?” he tried, a little pointlessly, as the young girl whirled towards the fridge.

Sophie was twelve, blonde, was indisputably intelligent and had Q’s smile, and his almost dance-like ability to dart around a room without crashing into anything.

"So, how’s the book?" Bond tried as Sophie took her seat and buried her nose once again, with a tangible sense that she had no intention of coming out.

“S’good.”

"Soph…" Q muttered warningly.

Sophie couldn’t quite conscience being rude to her father; she lifted her head, eyes huge and tone just skating along the edges of being extremely whiney. “But it’s…”

"Don’t care. Socialise," Q told her, spooning chilli onto her potato while she genuinely _pouted_  – another Q-ism – and reluctantly put it away.

"What’s it about?" Bond tried, in a feeble attempt at bonding. He really did like Sophie, but  _damn it_ , she was a pre-teen girl and he had  _literally no idea_  what to do with her. Including – regrettably – her book choices.

He had never personally understood it all, dwarves and elves and… magic? He had preferred detective stories, mysteries. Maybe a romance novel, if the mood hit and he could hide it from Q.

Sophie looked to her father, Q nodding, a slight smile on his face.

"Just about this girl, she’s inherited a small town and has to defend it. But, well, there is a large war on…."

"Sounds great," Bond told her, grating a small mountain of cheese onto his food.

"Can I ask…" Sophie once again flicked a look to Q. "Have you ever, I mean… do you get to use swords?"

"Swords?" Bond asked, looking a little confused. "Erm. I did once or twice…"

"What kind?" Sophie asked, eyes lighting up.

"No idea," Bond admitted as Q laughed, and supplemented with  _a broadsword, once, but that was a terrifying mistake all round._

Abruptly, Bond found himself being interrogated about swords by a young girl. “I don’t know where she gets it from,” Q commented, as Sophie got ever-faster. “It’s positively backward…”

"Give her time, I’m sure she’ll work up to Walthers.”

-

Two weeks later found Bond and his partner’s daughter in a field. With shotguns.

"Not quite medieval, but I thought you might enjoy this," Bond told her as the girl looked as though multiple Christmases had come at once.

"Does dad know?" Sophie asked as she loaded the gun.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “You’re eleven, with a gun. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Sophie grinned like a demon, and Bond talked her through.


	544. Chapter 544

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why but I just want Alec to be Q’s uncle or something like that and being away in an undercover mission or something and coming back to Bond & Q being together and just that because it would be stupidly funny – anon

"When were you going to tell me?" Alec asked, looking from his best friend to his nephew, on the very,  _very_  edge of cracking.

Q looked decently scared. Honestly, Bond couldn’t blame him. “Alec, please…”

"I mean really, you want part of this family?" he asked, face breaking into a smile as Bond smirked in relief. "They’re fucking crazy Bond, I’m telling you - get out now."

"Hilarious," Q mocked, though nearly too relieved to function. "Really Alec."

"I miss being Uncle Al," Alec teased, as Bond slipped an arm around Q again, and they tried to conduct a dialogue with the new – slightly strange – dynamic.

Three months in Iraq.

It’s amazing how much can change in three months.

"Moving in together?"

"Why not?" Q asked, handing his uncle a coffee as the man winced in his sling.

Bond was, mercifully, in Nigeria. It was probably safest for all concerned. “Bit fast isn’t it?” Alec commented.

Q smiled slightly, stirring his tea with a look of absentminded contentment. “It’ll be fine.”

Half a year in deep cover. Most of Europe was involved. Alec was shipped home in an Austrian helicopter.

“ _Married_? You’re getting married?!” Alec looked up at them from a hospital bed, eyes wide and slightly wild. “It’s only been…”

"Two years, to be fair," Q pointed out, toying with his ring.

Alec blinked. “Q, look, are you sure? Is he sure? Monogamy has never been his strong suit…”

… cheers for that…”

Alec raised an eyebrow, briefly batted away a nurse who wanted to look at the IV. “Sorry mate, but, it’s  _you_. Does M know?”

"Everyone knows. It happened while you were away…"

"Set a date yet?"

Q smiled slightly shyly, exchanging a quick glance with Bond. “Next September,” Q told him, hand lightly resting on his uncles. “We really want you to be there. If you can. I’ve asked M already, actually, so you really shouldn’t have any damn excuse.”

Alec nodded. “Alright then,” he muttered, before grinning. “Welcome to the family, James.”

Post marriage.

Five months in Serbia.

One month in hospital.

Six months in Africa.

"…You’re  _kidding me_.”

"Her name’s Lily, you’ll love her!"


	545. Chapter 545

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LUV U GUYS! Could you maybe do one where Q wants to surprise Bond so he has Alec teach him to tango? – starstrucklucky

Q was dressed to the nines, heart beating frantically in his chest, music swelling around them; this was his chance, this,  _this_  was his chance, to make good on everything he had sworn he would achieve and prove his worth.

The music had grown sensual, dark, and Bond’s body was half-mimicking as he lost himself to it; Bond had always been so eloquent in motion, and Q wanted to share in it as best he could. “Would you like to dance?” he asked simply, before his body fell into learned steps, and Bond’s eyes widened.

Together, their steps worked perfectly; Q had adapted the motions, learning a female role but with Alec’s personal touches, ways to keep masculinity while remaining true to the original dance, and not disrupting Bond.

“How did you…?”

“Happy birthday,” Q told him simply, with a smile that made his eyes sparkle; Bond could barely breathe for a moment, his body on autopilot as he watched his younger lover. “I got Alec to teach me. He’s a good teacher.”

Bond’s mouth fell slightly open. “He’s a  _nightmare_ ,” he stated, very accurately; he still had nightmares about the man’s ‘teaching’, for god’s sake. “You put up with Alec Trevelyan teaching, for the sake of…”

A moment: Q’s body arched back, swung upwards, a sudden rush of motion as the music swayed, before returning to Bond. “You,” he completed, in time, head moving, and he was so beautiful it was practically painful.

Bond let the dance end, moved Q into a searing kiss. “Thank you,” he breathed against Q’s lips.

“Thank Alec, not me,” Q laughed, and reached for his phone, presumably to text the man. “Oh, and do  _not_  tell him I cocked up that endy bit, you know, the… actually, know what? Don’t tell him I was anything other than perfect.”

“Understood.”

-

“He was perfect,” Bond insisted, upon next seeing Alec.

Alec just raised an eyebrow. “Bollocks,” he returned drily, and stalked away, leaving Bond snorting with laughing behind him.


	546. Chapter 546

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you please write a fic to the song “I’m gonna be (500 miles) By the Proclaimers” either for Johnlock or 00Q this song is just a joy to listen to – kyuun-chan

India. Fucking hot.

James Bond looked down to his watch, sniffing slightly as he moved away from the burning hotel. Mission accomplished. Thirteen hours until Q’s birthday. It was going to be damn tight.

He ran – arm still bleeding – to the car, slamming open the door and whirling off towards the messaged coordinates.

He arrived to find three CIA operatives, all wanting different bits of information from him, and none of whom he had time for. He barged past, with a gruff explanation of ‘needing to get back for a debriefing and they could read the damn files’.

The jet was expensive, but nowhere near fast enough. Bond sat, fidgeting to himself in the plush leather seat, foot circling irately. Blood was still drying on his shirt, but he needed to be home. It was always going to be tight, but it was Q’s  _birthday,_  he couldn’t damn well miss it. The previous evening had been spent alone in his hotel room, dreaming of his lover, planning the day they would have on his return.

Then, something exploded.

At some point Bond had managed to catch an hour or so in fitful sleep, nerves on a knife edge. It had become a fixed point in Bond’s mind; Q himself had never really seen the importance of it all - they happened every year, after all. But Bond was determined, it  _meant_  something. For so long he had had nothing back home to return to except his next brief, or a reloading of equipment. Finally he had a reason. And he would hold onto that.

The landing was messy, juddering unpleasantly; Bond winced slightly, but nothing was too badly damaged and he could probably fob off medical and vanish as soon as humanly possible; except that, as he exited the jet, it became patently obvious that this would not be the case.

They were on the wrong  _fucking_  side of London. Technically, they weren’t even  _in_ London. They were at bloody  _Gatwick_ , which meant he needed to negotiate the M25, and indeed South Circular.

_In the fucking rush hour_.

Years of the secret service had given Bond the gift of adapting to new situations, no matter how bloody inconvenient; and so, Bond found himself in a hired car, belting. At rush hour. Doing some exceptionally illegal manoeuvres and resolving to apologise to Tanner profusely first thing in the morning but  _only if he fucking got there in time_.

He crawled his way into Central London, to find it gridlocked. Of course.

Not long later, he abandoned the car, and just decided to run the rest of the way. It would probably be simplest.

At half past eleven, Bond found himself at MI6 headquarters, panting furiously as he keyed in his code. Ignoring security, Eve and common sense, he headed straight for Q-branch. The look of a bloody double oh was not one to be messed with and he was allowed through.

Q looked up to find his partner entering, all but collapsing at his feet. Shock rendered him speechless as Bond engulfed him in a sweaty, slightly bloody, bear hug.

"Happy birthday Q," Bond managed, as Q gradually hugged him back.


	547. Chapter 547

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your stuff is always so epic i have a prompt for you um Q spends the whole night watching scary movies and then discovers hes scared himself silly so he calls James asking him to come over James thinks hes joking but comes over anyway. um there? – anon

“It was a stupid idea. A very fucking stupid idea which I sincerely regret and wish I could take back but I  _can’t_  because it’s  _happened_  now and I can’t get the pictures out of my head, this is horrific, I swear my body cannot handle this form of adrenaline, it’s why I work in Q-branch, I get to think about things and be a little more detached and have control rather than watch  _morons_  make  _moronic_  mistakes like splitting up and then being surprised at their nasty and unpleasant and gratuitously violent deaths while the scary music ramps up in pitch and unpleasantness and minor sevenths are used left right and centre and I  _cannot do this James fucking Bond,_ I need somebody here, I genuinely cannot deal with this on my own.”

Q paused for breath.

The silence extended.

“That was extraordinary,” Bond told him, in absolute awe. “Okay. Q, go make yourself some tea. Leave all the lights on. You’ll be fine. Just give me fifteen minutes?”

Q sighed slightly; it had been rather unfair, to just call Bond in the night and rant for no apparent reason. It made sense that he was busy. “Course,” he replied lightly. “Thanks for listening. Talk soon.”

“Very soon,” Bond promised, and hung up.

Q sat in his empty flat.

He didn’t move to get tea. He was genuinely too scared too.

Instead, he remained stranded on the sofa, hyper-vigilant, wishing there  _was_ somebody there, to distract him, if nothing else.

Calling Bond back was a tempting option.

Why it had to be  _Bond_  was something to be examined at a later stage.

Q sighed elaborately.

There was a knock at the door.

For a very, very long minute, Q literally couldn’t breathe. Terror rendered him entirely incoherent. “ _Q. Q, it’s me_.”

Shock. “James?”

“Who else was it going to be?” Bond returned, a little sarcastically, suave as ever. “Could you let me in?”

“Floor’s lava,” Q mumbled to himself, as he looked at the floor, and reminded himself that he would not die in the space of getting to the door. Bond was there. Bond would ensure he didn’t die.

The door opened, and Bond just smiled at him, perfectly calm. “Time for tea, chocolate, and a fun film,” he diagnosed instantly, shutting the door quickly, locking it, turning every single light on and withdrawing a bar of chocolate. “Go. Harry Potter?”

“Why not,” Q nodded, and let Bond lead him to the sofa.


	548. Chapter 548

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I absolutely love all your works!!! I hope you guys continue for a long long time. May I request something? A song fic inspired from Kiss You All Over by Exile??? Every time I hear it, I think of 00Q, the lyrics from Bonds POV and how he sees Q. I would be so happy if you could do something with this, but please take your time, no rush! – GWS

There was just something perfect about the moment he saw Q again, after a mission, after any time apart. When he had been gone for a week or a month, and he could return home not only to his country, his home, but to a man who would look up and the expression in his eyes was pure light, and Bond wrapped himself around the man so tightly they seemed to merge, the pair becoming one complete being.

Q’s fingers would trace over him, and Bond could do nothing but smile and kiss his fingertips, ghosting his own lips over every inch of the man, as though he could somehow consume him, keep him in place forever.

In bed, and Q lay over him, wrapped over Bond’s as though he was the one who could fight off everything ( _and maybe he could_ ) and Bond let him, running fingers through his hair and wondering just when his life had become this, when it had been short hair and glasses and a slim body and no breasts and curiously the latter didn’t seem to matter, when Bond had been so certain it would.

It was just  _Q_ , and the rest could go to hell.

Sex, and he would kiss along the ridges of tendon and thigh, nuzzle against the sparse hair of his abdomen, unravel the younger man and swallow cries and feel a heartbeat juddering against his lips and slowing, calming, increments.

The darkness cast shadows over their room, and Q’s arms tightened on reflex, Bond kissing the top of his head and soothing away nightmares, Q calming and letting Bond take care of him, love him, and he  _did_.

Q didn’t need to hear it.

He smiled at Bond with pure light, and their kiss was electric, a fuse of motion and need and want and care and yes, something like love.

Very much like love, actually.

“Don’t leave,” was Bond’s version of it; Q knew.

“I won’t,” was Q’s inevitable response.

Bond knew that, too. 


	549. Chapter 549

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! You guys do such an amazing job!! I have a prompt: Q wakes up one morning with a ((treatable)) eye disease that makes everything in shades of black and white and he doesn’t even realize he is not seeing colour until he gets home and kisses Bond and his eyes aren’t their normal blue. Thank you very much! – shertealocked

Wires. Coding. Mug. Kettle on, trudge across the office. Click. Click click. Click click click. Click. Long fingers, pale and quick, like little bolts of lightning. Possibly keys. Possibly light. Fingers and numbers and letters, every letter, numbers and letters and letters and patterns and binary codes and code and code.

"Sleeping in the office again?"

Busy, too busy. Headset on, CCTV. Blurry grey on bright dark screens, night vision as Q watches, follows, brain computing algorithms while fans whir frenetically and timestamps echo countries he will never see through more than a camera.

Everything is just numbers. Him and numbers, that’s all he needs. Number won’t do, pull in some letters, colour the screen, cover the screen, blinking, eyes sore behind black frames, dark hair falling in front of his face.

Extension cable.  _Extention cable_. Thank you Oscar. Plug in, stretch the cord, snaking across the office floor. Click click. Boil the kettle. Click. Q mug, black and white scrabble tile.

The screen is too bright, throwing things out of focus.  Back to CCTV, following a beating heartbeat through London’s streets and Tokyo’s alleys, one at a time, two at a time  _006 get back here_  one at a time  _medevac now please_  one, left, right, left again, don’t go down the alley, over the fence, yes I said over. No I can’t, but am I to assume you are only able to do things that I can do? No? Get over the fence. There you go.

Tea, he’ll take it black, milk’s gone off again. Safe. Breathe.

_Medevac?_ Present and correct.

Back to numbers.

"Q, go home. You need sleep. James will be back soon."

Can’t go, too much to do. Leather chair creaking and squeaking with energy and quiet loud quiet numbers fucking numbers blurring.

"Home  _now_ , Quartermaster.”

The tube is packed, but with no one important. Dark tunnels rush by, familiar and distant as Q thumbs over the metro dully. News stories splayed across the pages, his eyes jumping across them.

Home.

Waiting.

Sleeping.

Waking.

Tuxedo, black and white and black and white and grey…

Grey.

"James?"

"Q?"

"What’s wrong with your eyes?"

Bond just raised an eyebrow. “Nothing – what’s…?”

“Grey,” Q murmured, and fell back asleep.


	550. Chapter 550

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write something were the age gap between Q and Bond is something like 20-30 years, basically enough for Bond to be Q’s father? Everyone always comments on that and Q’s starting to feel really insecure and like he isn’t worth of Bond, while Bond feels like an old, disgusting perv. Fluffy ending, please, and awesome!Alec is always appreciated :—)

Q had always been honest with him about it. Q was nineteen, a child prodigy; a degree by the time he was fifteen, and in MI6’s employ from sixteen. Appointing him had been risky – of course it had – but the leap of faith had paid off; Q was rather emotionally mature for his age, and had grown with his responsibilities, with a job he loved.

Bond, meanwhile, was nearing forty. His double-oh days were distinctly numbered, as people seemed to love reminding him; a desk job waited for him, or possibly training. Some ghastly fate.

Slightly oddly, Q was a constant. Until Q had told him, it hadn’t really occurred that Q could be as young as he was. The boy adored Radio 4, Earl Grey, and appreciated the quality of wines. He also knitted as a pastime, and hadn’t thrown a tantrum in all the time Bond had known him.

Really, they had never had much of a problem with it.

The pair of them had become public knowledge almost by accident: Bond had been hospitalised, Q hadn’t left his side. M had found out of course, and gradually MI6 began to hear the news.

No one had a problem, per se. Like Bond, they appreciated Q’s mental age and overall maturity. It was their choice.

It didn’t stop the jokes.

"I suppose he already had the car, toy boy was the only option…"

"Thank you 006, now if you could kindly shut up and stop terrorising my staff?"

Ironically, there had been less problems with Bond’s choice of gender in a partner, as Eve explained: “He’s, well, he’s Bond. Sex is just a part of him, I don’t think he’d limit himself!”

It was just the  _age_.

Q was at his computer, typing, and couldn’t help but feel – as he watched his partner move and flirt and talk, watched the years of experience and understanding – that he was leading Bond down a dead end. Eventually, it would get tiring for Bond, to be with somebody who simply didn’t inhabit the world he did. Somebody who was too young to understand the pains, to know the scope, and it was something that couldn’t be fixed through more than simple age.

Bond just felt  _disgusting_. The jokes were just that – jokes – but after a rather misplaced Lolita reference, it became a lot harder. Fuck, it was practically the same. The aesthetic joy in a younger man, the corruption he would inevitably be instilling, damaging somebody who deserved better.

The cracks were showing.

They split open over dinner, oddly.

“I’m not enough,”

“I’m going to destroy you.”

Both looked at one another, and blinked. “What the hell makes you say that?”

Silence.

“This was always going to be hard,” Q murmured. “Thing is… James, I think I’m in love with you, and that complicates things a little. I’m not going to let you go that easily. I just don’t want you to stay for the wrong reasons.”

Bond blinked, considered. “I love you too,” he stated, after a long enough gap for Q to wonder if Bond had lost the ability to speak.

Q smiled very slightly.

Bond’s arms closed around him, and Q curled against his side, eyes sliding shut for a moment and breathing out Bond’s name to the evening.


	551. Chapter 551

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Q: There are only about six people in the world who could set up fail-safes like this." Could you do something with this? Like, maybe those six people knew who each other are and something happens and Q has to intervene or something. Thank you~ - tsuyuhime

He looked over the invitation. It was expensive stuff, posh paper and everything. The most remarkable thing however, was the name it was addressed to.

Q.

His sign in. The longed for initial that he would hopefully soon inherit. Of course, it could be for the Quartermaster himself, but the address was wrong. No, whoever sent this knew of him only by his online pressence.

The invitation had coordinates of a single warehouse; Q looked over it curiously, and assumed he was meeting one of the concealed creatures that inhabited his secret realms of the internet. One with skill enough to trace him, enough to know his tricks and actually second-guess them.

And yes – enough to very neatly abduct him, upon establishing that Q had a slight tendency towards naivety. Q went to the coordinates willingly enough, and woke up in a climate that was distinctly non-British.

Balmy, horrifically so. Blinking open his eyes he found, through the post-drugged haze, that he was in a rather well kitted out room. It felt almost like a posh hotel, clean white sheets, an ensuite through the door and thankfully a pile of linen clothes on his bed.

It was definitely surreal, but Q couldn’t claim to being particularly concerned; he had enough failsafes to keep his work safe, and those at the highest ends of illegality needed one another. The chances of it being dangerous were somewhat minimal; this was definitely not a government abduction, after all. They tended to be danker affairs.

"Buenos dias," a voice greeted, with genuine joy, genuine enthusiasm. "My apologies for all this, please do forgive me."

Q’s eyes focused: single ostentatious Spanish male, and five others, sitting at a long dining table and ignoring food altogether. All were dressed as Q was, and all evidently from different corners of the world; Q spent a moment trying to work out what strange reality he’d wound up in, before focusing on the speaker.

"Welcome! I think perhaps English would suit us all best?" the speaker asked, looking around the table, and waiting for the answering nods. "Some explanations, hmm? My name is Raoul Silva, but you will all recognise me better as ‘Rat’. I have brought you all together - our little collective - because I require your help, all of you. We are different from the common crowds, no?"

Those assembled looked around warily. Q moved forward, taking a seat. “I am sorry for the manner in which you arrived here, but really safety first,” Silva told them, while Q ran through memories. ‘Rat’ – he had always assumed initials, but apparently not – was arguably the best hacker Q had ever come across. Flirtatious, irritating; really, his appearance wasn’t much of a surprise.

"You will find the briefings in front of you. Your opinions are welcome. Please do note - we are all intelligent people, and as I am certain you have gathered, I have means. Do not attempt anything… foolish, shall we say."

Silva smiled benevolently, and nodded at the folders. “Go ahead,” he coaxed, and sat back to watch, intrigued.


	552. Chapter 552

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know that eating disorder!Q is a bit overdone, so sorry. I have an issue remembering to eat. I forget most days, and when I remember I usually can’t find something I want or I just can’t be bothered. I once went four days without eating, and then I passed out in shower. I’d like to see the same thing happen to Q, and Bond’s response. Perhaps they live together, and he’s there when it happens. Fluff galore, please! Thank you! – anon

Q was not subtle.

It is actually rather difficult, to be subtle when passing out in a shower. There are very few ways to elegantly retrieve the situation, and it is a noisy affair when a body hits a floor as a dead weight.

Bond was in the bathroom in a heartbeat.

Q was very wet, very unconscious, and bleeding.

There was no time to succumb to the flinch that almost-crossed when Bond replaced Q’s face with Vesper’s; he hauled his young lover out of the shower, quickly discovering that the blood was a head injury. “Q,  _Q_.”

“Ow,” Q returned weakly, eyes cracking open. “Fuck. I passed out.”

Bond was torn between slapping him, hugging him, and killing him. “Q, you’re going to get very badly hurt if you keep doing this,” he said firmly, wrapping Q in a towel and establishing that the head wound was wholly superficial. “I can’t be a bloody babysitter, if I’m not here and you…”

“I know,” Q returned, a little irritably, sitting up and probing his head curiously, annoyed. “I’m fine, James. I’m annoyed with myself, but I’m fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you…”

Bond’s expression was near-enough mutinous, and Q sighed slightly. “It’s  _bloody_ irresponsible. Set an alarm, something like that. I’m not going to watch you do this to yourself. “

“I’m  _not_ …”

“Deal with it,” Bond repeated, with an odd stress, something Q couldn’t quite grasp. “You need to be  _safe_ , Q. If it’s not too much trouble for you.”

The tone could wilt flowers at twenty paces. Q nodded. “Can I get tea?”

“Sweetened, and with toast,” Bond completed, with a polite smile. “Yes?”

Q didn’t dare refuse.


	553. Chapter 553

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Prompt please~? “Q spots a perfume named “007” ( giveawaysblog(.)com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/james-bond-007-fragrance(.)jpg [remove the brakets ” ( ” ” ) ” I can’t put the link in there TwT ] ) as he was shopping, buys it, and sprays it around his room. Later, maybe Bond finds out.?” Make it as fluffy as possible pretty please with maple syrup and honey on top! XD – anon

The flat smelt absolutely bizarre, and Bond couldn’t, for the life of him, work out what Q had done to it.

Presumably, there had been some aspect of tidying up and possibly perfume and possibly cologne, and the room just smelt psychotic. “Q, what on earth?” he asked weakly.

Q blinked at him, a rabbit in headlights. “What do you mean?” he asked shiftily. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing.”

“It smells bizarre in here.”

“It’s  _nothing_.”

Bond could honestly say he had never been quite so alarmed over something that had seemed entirely innocuous. “Erm… Q, is everything alright?”

Q was practically pouting. “S’fine. All fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.”

Really, Bond had very little choice but to just drop it. Q was not a lot of fun when aggressively defensive, it had to be said.

They continued the evening.

The flat still smelt odd.

Eventually, Q just buckled. Entirely accidently, but buckled; he just turned to Bond and abruptly blurted _IfoundaperfumeofyouandIthoughtitwasfunsoIboughtitandIlikeitand…_

Bond held up a hand, somewhat shocked.

Q was silent.

“Sorry,” Bond managed, “but what?!”

Abruptly, Q stood, and vanished into the bathroom.

He returned about a minute later, clutching a bottle of perfume. “It’s you.”

Bond gently prised it out of Q’s fingers, and wound up just blinking at it.

It  _was_  him. Double-oh seven. A bloody perfume with his call sign.

“Well. That’s new.”


	554. Chapter 554

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the things that Q absolutely LOVES more than tea is candy. Eve makes the mistake of gifting Q a very laaarge supply of candies for (insert reason here). When Bond finds out, he quickly returns home to find a very hyper Q who’s hard at work on his laptop, talking really fast about computer things that no one could understand - and there are candy wrappers literally *everywhere.* Bond now has to calm his lover down and coax him away from the (evil) candies. – anon

Q couldn’t stop giggling, and Bond had never seen anybody move so fast in his entire life. The boy was literally hyperkinetic, darting from one room to another, fingers twitching and running over keyboards, impossible and bizarre speed.

“Q?!”

In a second, Q had darted over to him, wrenched him forward, kissed him, pulled him towards the computer. “Look at what I did, I did, look what I did…”

“I’m looking,” Bond replied lightly, utterly unable to suppress his smirk as Q continued, with mounting pitch and excitement. “Q, what…”

Then he saw.

Sweet wrappers.  _Everywhere_.

Q giggled, and began ranting about something Bond wasn’t even going to vaguely pretend he understood. “Q, how did you get the sweets?”

He was not supposed to have sweets in large quantities. Bond knew that. Everybody bloody knew that, or so Bond had thought; Q was hyper enough, without any refined sugars in his bloodstream. “Eve,” he said happily.

Bond paled slightly.

Eve and Bond managed a very nasty row, and Eve had sworn revenge – Bond had assumed he would find something unpleasant in his post, or something would drop on his head or a gun would be pink or something,  _not_  that she would take it upon himself to target  _Q_. That was just bad sportsmanship.

Q giggled again.

“ _Look_.”

“I’m looking,” Bond hushed, wondering if there were any heavy-duty tranquillisers about. It was possible. Q desperately needed  _something_. “Q, love, I think you need to step away from the computer for a moment.”

The look Bond was faced with was truly, utterly  _terrifying_.

“Okay, I didn’t say anything.”

Q continued to stare with breathtaking, terrifying intensity, before giving a sharp nod and turning back to the computer.

All Bond could really do was wait for him to calm down, he mused sadly, and settled himself disconsolately on the sofa to watch and wait.


	555. Chapter 555

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii! I have a prompt for you: can you write about Q getting hurt (psychically or emotionally, up to you) and a protective!Bond? Thanks! – anon

Q’s eyes were oddly unfocused, body pliant in the grip of somebody far stronger, somebody who seemed to know just which attacks to mount if he wanted to undermine everything Q was. Too much time had already passed in the company of those intend on breaking him down, and it was getting towards the point of ‘too much’.

The gun nestled under his chin, and Bond listened as Q’s fears – mostly pertaining to his relationship with Bond, given that it had somehow become wider-known and was thus subject to a truly phenomenal degree of mocking and active cruelty.

After all; Bond was a known womaniser, and didn’t that just cover it. Q was very young, very male, and very dispensable. He seemed fragile somehow, too, and apparently their new antagonist was more than prepared to exploit all of the above just to unnerve him, to throw the quartermaster’s terrifying intellect off-track in tandem with the physical damage that had been wrought over the course of a very long fortnight.

When it came down to it, it was a team effort; Q abruptly moved and wound up delivering an excellent elbow to the man’s solar plexus, before Bond rattled off the requisite shots and rendered Q entirely safe once again.

Q did not speak. He did not move, or respond. He simply seemed to exist for a little while, and didn’t care much about saying or doing anything in particular.

Bond sat next to him, and just waited.

Q-branch moved around them. The medical teams tried and failed to get within ten feet of Q. Bond waited. Q was silent.

When the day rolled towards an end, Bond took Q home.

The man had yet to utter a syllable.

There was little to be done about it, in practise. Q would speak when he was ready, and Bond was prepared to wait; he settled himself with Q on the sofa next to him, and fed him biscuits and tea and when Q asked for the milk he passed it without comment on the fact that the man was mercifully now speaking.

Neither really spoke about any of it.

The incident filtered into the backs of their psyches, and waited there for if they ever needed a conversation; both hoped not, in a quiet and understated way, but if it happened they would do what they needed to.

“It’s just odd, once in a while,” Q said eventually, unexpectedly.

Bond waited in the quiet, fingers lacing with Q’s, half-expectant. It could still be an anecdote on tea types, after all (wouldn’t be the first time) and yes, it was easy to make everything serious and make everything matter, but Bond didn’t  _want to_ , because Q just needed a moment to be normal.

It would go away.

It always went away.

“Don’t leave,” Q asked, in the quiet of an evening both couldn’t sleep through.

Bond smiled, kissed the crown of his head with utter gentleness. “I won’t,” he promised, and held Q into sleep.


	556. Chapter 556

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s stomach growles and gurgles (despite him not being hungry) and he’s embarrassed by it. James finds his bright red blush endearing and rubs his stomach and cuddles him until he feel better. – anon

Q stood, nodding to the assembled. A powerpoint sprung into life on the wall as he dimmed the lights, and began to gesture, voice measured and all of him a study in calm and intellect, and he was impressive to watch; Bond tuned out after a point, Q’s mouth moving as he went through some complex explanation that was soaring neatly over Bond’s head.

A sudden gurgling.

Q paused, freezing mid-explanation, before coughing very briefly and continuing; a few more sentences, and it happened again. Bond watched, torn between sympathy and laughter, as a rather endearing blush rise on his pale cheeks.

"A sandwich, perhaps?" M suggested lightly, causing the blush to rise further; M was only teasing, but Q was apparently less than delighted, a strangled curse falling from his lips before he resumed his presentation.

Half an hour later found Bond in Q’s office, holding the young Quartermaster tightly .

"I bloody hate it, it’s a damned chemical factory," Q whined, as Bond held him, stroking his stomach.

Bond nuzzled against his ear softly as Q squirmed in his lap, trying to push him off. “It’s very endearing.”

"It’s  _humiliating_ ,” Q retorted, trying to push him off “And I am your  _bloody_  superior 007, so stop patronising me.”

“I’m trying to comfort,” he pointed out, a touch wearily. “Q, it’s just one of those things. You’ve tried dealing with it. There is  _nothing_  that is getting rid of it, so just get on with life?”

Q sighed, sulked, and disconsolately leant his head on Bond’s shoulder. “Don’t like it,” he muttered.

Bond smiled slightly; Q was softening, calmly down. “I know,” he purred, rubbing circles over his belly, comforting and loving. “It’s annoying. But it’s just a body, Q. It does things you don’t expect…”

“But  _why_ …”

A light kiss stalled Q’s complaints, and Bond just smiled as he bundled Q ever closer into him, feeling the churning beneath his hand; there was nothing wrong with Q’s body, they had done all the checks. It was just a quirk. An  _irrelevant_  quirk, in the scheme of things. He was safe, he was well, and Bond honestly didn’t care much if he embarrassed himself occasionally so long as Q was alright.

“Love you,” he pointed out gently.

Q’s stomach chose that moment – of course – to gurgle.

“Fuck it,” Q muttered, and rolled his eyes while Bond snorted. “Yeah, alright. I love you too.”


	557. Chapter 557

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s two songs….both by In This Moment, one’s called “Blood” and the other is called “Adrenalize”….yes both songs are very…crazy. :) — ponandzifan

Q’s eyes were dead. Bond had killed something behind them, and hadn’t even started to notice.

He hated Bond. He hated their relationship, he hated what they had become and what they were, and he fucking  _hated_  himself for letting it continue and evolve, turning from strange to unhealthy to unpleasant to outright fucking dangerous, and they would fuck themselves raw and Q would send him to places he would doubtless die, and was surprised and delighted and livid when he returned.

Bond hated Q, too.

The itching sensation lived under his skin, and when Q tore at it, everything exploded at the seams. He hurt, he felt and lived and breathed in pain with every torn-off gasp and when Q’s body rippled with those same hurts for a heartbeat, a single heartbeat, he could feel a little less dead.

They kissed like hurricanes, destroying everything around but caught in their epicentre, where the calm could live, and god forbid they extended a limb out too far or a voice broke through because  _then_  everything went wrong,  _then_  it stopped making sense.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They are not lying.

Everything they are, everything they do, is for the other. Q makes weapons to keep Bond alive a fraction longer, just a fraction, and Bond bleeds out hours for the chance to keep Q safe.

They hate each other for that more than anything.  Both want to feel they can take care of themselves and they  _can_ , but they also want to keep somebody they _lovehatewantneed_  safe and is that  _so bad_ , is it so terrible to hurt to heal, to destroy a part in protecting the whole,  _they need it_ , and it’s wrong.

And they hate it.

“I love you,” Q repeats, as Bond walks out of his office with a gun in his jacket, and in his eyes a little painted quirk of something flickers, and he turns from his brief examination of his perfectly constructed false identity, passport, cards, plane tickets and smiles at his quartermaster.

He smiles, and it makes Q’s heart sing a little (a lot) and he smiles back too, and there is a moment, a quiet and beautiful and startling moment, and Q’s body aches and everything of him  _hurts_  these days but there is this.

“I love you, too.”

There is a whole.


	558. Chapter 558

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have been filled with an unholy NEED for fic where it turns out that Q gets with more women than Bond. – anon

Bond watched from a safe distance as Q gathered together his equipment, moving around in a flurry of limbs. The quartermaster was truly brilliant – even Bond had to concede that – though a little terrifying to watch work. Bond just didn’t know where the kid found the  _time_  to make the stuff he was given; something new for literally every mission, normally specific for him and for the required job.

"Needs to get laid," Bond commented to Eve when he waited outside M’s office, equipment in hand, looking over it with bemused interest and fiddling with it.

Eve looked at him curiously, eyes narrowing slightly. “Who?”

Bond cocked his gun, smiled slightly as a light lit, and remembered Q’s smirk when he had shown off how it worked. “Q.”

Eve snorted, much to Bond’s confusion; he put the gun back into its holder with a somewhat aggrieved expression. “What?”

"Q? You think  _Q_  needs to have more sex?” Eve asked, the snorting moving out an outright laugh.

"Yeah, he seems to have a lot of time on his hands," Bond replied with a slightly wary shrug, wondering what in the  _hell_  he was missing.

Eve just about regained control: “Three girls a night Q? The man who goes home with one and comes in with someone else? Has absolutely no issue getting almost any female to jump in bed with him?” Eve asked as Bond’s jaw dropped. “Oh yeah, he could show you a thing or two, old man.”

“ _Old man_?” Bond asked, almost dropping the firearm in his shock. “He…? Women?! I thought…”

"I doubt he limits himself, but he certainly has a way with the ladies…" Eve mused, as Bond watched, and shivered with very quiet delight.

Bond felt the blood drain from his face. It couldn’t be. “You didn’t.”

"It was just a one time thing," Eve shrugged, ignoring Bond’s slightly icy look. "Oh don’t be like that, he’s beautiful! And absolutely excellent in…"

"007?" M called, the office door opening.

"This isn’t over," Bond muttered, heading into M’s office.


	559. Chapter 559

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi! i do love your fills and all you do its just so interesting! but i thought of a 00Q and alecQ fic.. Q has a cat named alec, and one day on hes way back from work he finds a cat and calls it james. lots of fluff and i throw cupcakes at you if james is scared because alec is a stupid cat. –anon

"Here we go, got a new play mate for you Alec…" Q murmured, opening the box and allowing the sleek black cat out.

The large ginger tom looked less than impressed, eyeing the new addition suspiciously; a very slight snarl, and Q leant down to scratch James’s head affectionately before directing sharply to Alec: “Play nicely.”

Three hours later found Q patching up an awkwardly bitten ear, and Alec in the corner of shame.

James purred with a contentment that bordered on active malice, as Q stroked through his fur carefully and Alec remained looking a little offended a lot annoyed and generally disgruntled. He had the right kind of face to pull off disgruntled-feline with great aplomb; Q shook his head disparagingly at the ridiculous animal, and patted the sofa next to him. “Come on,” he coaxed.

Alec just stared.

James seemed to  _smirk_.

Abruptly, Alec was in motion; he threw himself at Q’s lap, wound up knocking James off, the pair tumbled to the ground in a collection of hisses and scratches and shredded trouser legs (not quite – James’s claws got caught in Q’s lap, and he wound up fighting with one paw out of commission) and the pair wouldn’t damn well stop.

_“That is quite enough_.”

To Q’s shock, the pair actually stopped. Mid-fight, they turned to Q and looked mildly sheepish.

“Now, apologise.”

Alec mewed. Q just watched him, extremely unimpressed. James let out a slight purr. Alec begrudgingly turned, and licked parts of the fur he had tried to attack on James; James smugly let it happen, before returning the favour.

“Better.”

It only occurred a while later that cats really were  _not_  supposed to understand – let alone respond to – English.


	560. Chapter 560

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I absolutely love your work, it’s amazing. Not sure if you’ve done this before but Q’s gone rogue and Bond has been sent to take him in/kill him, it’s your choice, but Q really doesn’t have a choice, he’s being threatened or something. Thank you if you do decide to write this. (I’d love it if this was 00Q but doesn’t have to be. ) *Sends jellyfish to add to your menagerie* - anon

Q was gone.

Bond let out a sharp noise of irritation. Trying to track the man down was near enough impossible; he was perpetually several steps ahead. Mercifully, this time Bond had clearly come close, Q’s cleanup not quite as thorough as in previous locations.

Indeed, there was still a cup of tea.

Steaming.

“Q?”

“James, I know you’re here to kill me.”

Q’s voice was echoing out of everywhere, reverberating off walls, through the stone underpassages; Bond had no idea how, but he became more alert, grip tightening marginally on his gun. “You’re a rogue agent.”

A soft noise, like a sigh, like a groan. “You believe them, then?”

“Is there a decent explanation?” Bond volleyed, and waited, trying to find a source. “Q, come out here. Let me see you, at least.”

Q laughed. “For god’s sake, I’m not stupid!” he pointed out, and Bond let out a slight breath; he had a direction now, he knew where to look. “James, this wasn’t my choice. They threatened… tortured, actually, for a little bit, and I couldn’t, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t cope any more and I’m so sorry, James, I’m so sorry.”

Bond was quiet for a long moment. “Give me a reason to believe you.”

The answer was quiet, and devastating in its enormity:

“You loved me, once.”

Bond let out a long exhale, dizzied, exhausted. Tracing Q had been so difficult, and not fair, none of this was bloody well  _fair_  and yes, he had loved Q once, but that was a very long time ago now, and a lot of things had hurt in the interim.

He knew where Q was. He could hear it. The finely tuned measure of breath and body and heart. It would be incredibly simple, and incredibly easy; a single shot, a single flick of a finger and this would be done with.

Only, Q could be telling the truth.

He could also be lying.

“Please listen,” Q asked, with tentative quiet. “Give me a chance to explain everything. Please.”

For a very, very long moment, Bond considered.

“Alright.”


	561. Chapter 561

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you possibly write a fic where R meets R (Q’s cat) and both are unsure whether to be flattered or mildly insulted. (This idea kind of relies on the cat thinking like a human and being completely aware of its surroundings but whatever) Bonus if both respond to the initial so Q has to differentiate in some way. Merci beaucoup! – anon

R shifted nervously in her chair, watching as Q moved around the small kitchen. The Quartermaster was not a man known for being sociable, but she had just landed from a very nasty long-haul flight and really Q was so much closer to Heathrow, and a hotel was just expensive.

Honestly, it hadn’t occurred. R was used to felines, and had a vague understanding that Q owned one. He also owned a James Bond - which was something of a surprise when he ambled out, looking desperately gorgeous and smiling in a way that made R feel slightly upset - but she was extremely tired, jetlagged, and thus wound up falling asleep on Q’s sofa without really taking much heed of the cat.

"R," R awoke groggily, looking for the source of the call. "R? Who’s a good girl, yes you are…"

…

…

Dreaming. Definitely dreaming.

 ”Yes, you are, you beautiful little thing…”

Had to be dreaming, because her boss could not be actually speaking to her.

“ _No_ , tongue in!”

R raised a hand to her mouth, just in case.

"Come on, let’s get you fed…"

R opened her eyes, and sat up dazedly. “Q?” she mumbled, yawning, before enquiring very lightly: “The fuck’s going on?”

"Cat," Q said, by way of a response, and brandished said cat in her face. "R. Oh.  _Oh_. You don’t know.”

R blinked. “Do I  _look_  like I know?” she returned, with a dash of sarcasm now she was waking up properly.

Somewhere, she could hear chuckling; Bond sat, entirely shirtless, watching the pair with a mouthful of cornflakes.

"The cat, the cat’s name is R," Q explained, moving to the cupboards in a haphazard attempt to locate cat food. R followed him with her gaze as the cat in question paused, eyes fixed on R’s face.

"You named your cat R?" R confirmed, as the cat’s eyes narrowed.

Q didn’t look even faintly repentant. “She’s lovely. You’re lovely. Compliments. S’a compliment.”

"He’s extremely bad at mornings," Bond supplemented, earning himself a bop on the head with the Coco Pops pack Q had drawn from somewhere. "Coffee?"

“ _You named your cat after me._ ”

"After your job," Q amended; Bond shot him a somewhat irate look. "Sorry, I mean… well, yeah. Your job. You’re my second in command. I trust you. So. Cat. R. Made sense."

"It makes sense to him," Bond shrugged as R sought further explanation, and none was forthcoming. "Best not to question."

“… alright then,” R managed, as the cat moved over to her, jumping on her lap and pawing at her thighs experimentally. “Hello to you too,” she managed, giving the cat a stroke.

"She’s judging you," Q told her, locating the cat food and moving to the bowl.

"Nowhere near as much as I’m judging you," R returned, without skipping a beat, and gratefully accepted her coffee from a still-shirtless Bond, her doppelganger apparently accepting her presence, and thus proceeding to destroy her trousers.


	562. Chapter 562

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babies! I love your writing!!! I had such a bad, really really bad bad bad day :( I need some angst. I need that someone cries! – anon

Everything worked until nothing worked, and in that delightfully binary manner Q was so accustomed to harbouring, it was perfect until the moment it wasn’t.

The house of cards collapsed.

Q cannot stop shivering. The window is open, it has been open for hours, and the air is freezing and the sun is blazing and it is all in his head but he doesn’t know which, doesn’t know if the window is open or the world is still turning at all, if day is his construct or the wind is just his imagination trying to play tricks (again) and so he loses a little fraction of his own control in letting the wind keep blowing and sweat bead on his brow while the light turns to evening turns to night

Bond’s body twines around his own, and the claustrophobia is intense and immediate and he needs Bond there more than he can say ( _don’t leave me alone please don’t leave me alone)_  but he is too close, too much, and cannot be trusted  _everybody knows_  he cannot be trusted.

He extricates himself from under his lover’s warmth, and the cold starts to sink through the fibres of the duvet until he wakes attached so firmly to Bond’s side he can scarcely be prised away, and when Bond begins to shift his fingers tighten and cling with a desperation Q cannot stand in himself.

Dawn into day into night, and when there are no windows there is no time (and no cold) so Q stays in his branch and works and works and works so he doesn’t have to think, just continues to work until the numbers blur and glide and his ideas are shocking in their brilliance and frightening in their general abandonment of ethics, but everyone lets him because it’s Q.

It’s Q.

Q does not, cannot, know what he is beneath that moniker.

Q is just Q and that is enough, because it has to be enough, and it means something different whenever somebody says it so that makes it a name, it makes it more than a title which means he exists, he must exist, he  _must exist_  and everything is alright.

Another moment, another minute, and he cannot stop crying.

The pain escapes in heartbeats, warmth and wet on the tips of his fingers.

“I can’t understand why you love me,” he tells Bond simply, softly, as he holds on and cleans away the wetness and covers it away and helps Q heal and hides everything sharp.

Bond looks at him, and smiles very sadly. “Sometimes, I don’t either,” he says honestly. “Thing is, I do. It’s all a part of you, Q, and it’s  _all of you_  that I love. In isolation, no, I don’t love these parts of you. It’s you as a whole that keeps me coming back.”

For an instant, Q cannot breathe.

“I can’t tell you I love you.”

Bond moves closer, lets Q fall into his arms, and Q does so and wants to and sobs because his brain isn’t working, nothing is working. “I know,” Bond replies, voice muffled in the lank curls Q’s hair has become. “But maybe you’ll be able to tomorrow.”


	563. Chapter 563

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First I want to say, I love your fics! What if alien tech was found on a mission and Q was the only one who figured out how to use it? Either jealous!bond or Q teaching fluff, again you guys are amazing! – anon

Bond could actually pinpoint the moment Q understood; it spread across his expression, his entire being, as a childish form of delight made him electric for a beautiful suspended moment.

“Oh?” Bond asked.

Q lifted the device, brandishing it with his eyes sparkling: a glove, a silver glove. “Bond, if this does what I think it does, we have something  _extraordinary_ ,” he said delightedly, and – to Bond’s confusion – locked down the entire office.

“Very intimate,” Bond commented drily, and watched as Q placed the device against the lock.

Ten seconds.

A click.

The door opened.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Q breathed, and darted back to his computer.

Bond could only watch, somewhat confused and assuming he was supposed to be impressed. “What’s going on?” he asked, a little tiredly.

“My doors can’t just be broken in and out of. It isn’t possible. Supposedly. And  _yet_ , this device just did it. We already have some evidence to suggest that it is not of terrestrial origin, which leads me to the inevitable conclusion that this is alien technology.”

Bond, truly and honestly, had absolutely no idea how to respond to that statement. “Sorry – did you say  _alien_?!”

Q was ignoring him outright, busy darting around the room with the frenetic energy of a six-year-old, yanking a battered copy of  _Lyrical Ballads_  from his shelf and adhering the device to the spine. “It can rip information,” he babbled, as he waited; the device lit up happily, and Q reverentially attached it to his computer to see pages flick and the information revert to a new format. “It takes information, and intuitively uses it… it found a lock, found all information, and used… I’m assuming must use either a preordained or a psychic nudge to actually make the practical action…”

Bond honestly didn’t know whether to be scared or extremely impressed. Q was beginning to giggle in a way that was nothing short of maniacal. “So,” he broached, after a moment, “what does that mean in…”

“Practise?!” Q filled in, with a trilling, hysterical laugh. “We can do  _so much_ , I can’t begin to… Christ. Imagine being able to break into anything, steal any information. No memory sticks or anything ridiculous, just literally holding a device against a door and sliding inside, I mean… Bond, you are  _never allowed near it_.”

“Why?!”

Q just blinked at him. “You break  _everything_ ,” he stated primly, and returned his excitable explorations while Bond watched, feeling rather put-out.


	564. Chapter 564

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Children in Need program just started and so I was wondering if you could write something to do with that? Maybe MI6 has Pudseys dotted around the place, or a few agents wear the spotty bandana or wear a badge or /something/? OR maybe Q hacks into an Evil Guy’s bank account and that evil guy just so “happens” to donate lots of money to the cause? idk just fluffy awesome CiN celebrations! Please and thank you <3 – anon

“What on  _earth_ ,” Bond asked, as he walked into Q-branch, “are the lot of you doing?”

Q didn’t look up, and Bond had never expected him to. A minion turned instead, glancing over Bond with outright suspicion before giving one, simple nod. “R? Is Bond clear?”

“Yes,” she answered, without looking over; she was busy on a computer parallel to Q’s, clearly the earpiece to all surroundings. Q was speaking to her with a low murmur, like the hum of his computers, and everybody else’s voices were somehow remaining distinct enough to her to be understandable while her fingers danced across the keyboard.

Sometimes, Bond forgot just how prodigiously talented Q-branch employees were.

Around the room, all employees were wearing spotted yellow bandanas. There were teddy bears lining the walls. A large counter on the wall seemed to be showing lots of ticking numbers. Bond recognised Pudsey Bear – because he hadn’t quite been out of the country  _that_  much – but it took him a fairly long while to realise that they were dealing with Children in Need.

It took him far less long to realise that Q-branch had abandoned morality for the sake of the greater good.

“This isn’t even passingly legal, is it?”

Elizabeth – one of Bond’s favourite minions – briefly glanced up. “Nope. Not even a little bit. We’ve siphoned something like a hundred grand from various small-scale organisations now, Q’s just gone crazy. Nobody can stop him.”

“Should I?”

“I wouldn’t,” R commented lightly. “He’ll kill you faster than you could begin to contemplate.”

Everything was  _weird_. “So,” Bond began, a little uncertainly, “am I to assume that I know nothing?”

Everybody in Q-branch turned to him, en masse.

“Bond,” Q said, his first direct words to the agent. “If anybody in MI6, or elsewhere, discovers what we have done, we will all be in deep trouble. I will destroy you. That is all. Am I clear?”

“Transparently,” Bond replied easily, and settled down. “So. Who’re we targeting?”

The minions all grinned, and explained delightedly as the counter on the wall ticked upwards, and Bond shook his head to himself as he realised the sheer, odd brilliance of Q-branch.


	565. Chapter 565

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I luv you guys. Maybe you could do something just kind of fun and fluffy. Moneypenny and 006 Alec discussing possibly over drinks how James and Q’s dating lives are going, which is not well. Alec is very protective of James in his way and Eve is very protective of Q but they decide to help two bumbling goofs get passed the lingering looks and to the actual dating part. – starstrucklucky

Alec was in the unsurprising, but nevertheless extremely enviable, position of having managed to get Eve Moneypenny into a happy relationship and keep her there. Her gorgeousness could not be overstated – and honestly, nor could his – which meant they were in a power couple of unbelievable proportions.

They were also the only two people in existence who could claim, entirely fairly, to be close to both James Bond, and the MI6 Quartermaster. The former had been Alec’s best friend for as long as they could all remember, and Eve was Q’s closest friend and mothered him a little (which he didn’t honestly mind, but always pretended he did).

“… and Bond is being his usual self, which is always a worry…”

Alec tried not to respond, and failed. “You are completely unnecessary, when it comes to him,” he returned sharply. “For god’s sake, Eve, he’s trying – Q is stubborn, and…”

“It’s  _not_  Q’s fault…”

“I never  _said_ …”

Both reached a stop. Alec raised an eyebrow. “We probably shouldn’t argue over two _other people’s_  love lives,” he pointed out, and Eve nodded in stringent agreement, and they started a quieter dialogue on Alec’s Portugal mission which culminated in a bicker over Q’s abilities and – inevitably – Bond and Q’s relationship.

“It’s  _not Bond’s_ …”

Eve held up a hand. Alec quieted. “We need to stop. We really,  _really_  have to stop. They’re adults…”

“… ish…”

“… and we should at least  _try_  to treat them as such,” Eve completed, with a slightly dirty look in her partner’s direction.

Alec just blinked, and shrugged a bit.

“I feel we should do something,” she said, after a little while. “I mean… they’ll never make it together, otherwise. They’d be happy.”

“They don’t fit.”

“Oh, and we do?”

“Touché,” Alec sighed, leaning in, fingertips trailing over Eve’s hand. “Alright. So what do we do?”

Eve grinned, squeezed his hand, eyes bright. “Let’s get two unwitting gentlemen into bed with one another. Alcohol, tea, chocolate. Can’t fail.”

“Perfect.”


	566. Chapter 566

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s a cliché but I’d just love to read a fic where Q is smart + capable but hopelessly shy when it comes to dealing w/Bond because of his huge crush on him + all the ways Bond comes up with to deal with this + get them together. – anon

It was only when Bond noticed 003 wander sheepishly out of Q’s office, face downcast, ears ringing with the Quartermaster’s yells, did he realise.

"Moneypenny…" he began, leaning against the door to Eve’s office as she typed.

She didn’t look up, expression mild and but twitching with humour. “James?”

"What do most people think of Q?" he asked, attempting a casual, uninterested air.

Naturally, Eve was instantly hooked. Bond was never uninterested, when asking a question like that. “Quite highly. He’s terrifying, naturally, highly capable, ridiculously intelligent, worryingly compassionate for an active agent…” Moneypenny rattled off, eyeing Bond with curious excitement.

"Really?" he managed, trying to equate these things with his slightly shy, jumper-wearing, slightly snappy Quartermaster.

"Oh not to you of course," Eve finished, with a small wink.

Bond didn’t connect for a moment. “What?” he asked, a little too late.

Eve just grinned. “Nothing, Bond. Go away now, I’m busy.”

-

Bond wasn’t required in Q-branch for a good few days, long enough to formulate a vaguely plausible plan. His initial idea of asking Q out to dinner had apparently not seemed dramatic enough for Eve, so now there was a ‘plan’.

Q greeted him with a typical slightly hazy smile, Bond could almost see the multiple strands of thoughts flitting through his head.

"Ah, 007," Q indicated the equipment on the table. "Yours. Please do try not to lose any of it. Or destroy it.”

"What is it?" Bond asked, carefully extracting each item, running it through his fingers, stroking along each edge.

Blue eyes snapped up, to catch Q watching him. To his delight, the Quartermaster blushed rather pink across the cheeks. “Erm, well that’s your standard firearm, I mean, it’s a gun…” Q managed, suddenly looking very busy amongst piles of paper.

"I can see it’s a gun, Q," Bond told him, dragging it once again across his open palm.

"Well yes, but this is rather specific, inbuilt taser, just press the lower button and, oh god don’t press it now!" Q managed as Bond chuckled, finger poised over the button.

“Why not, think I can shock you?” Bond asked.

Q paused. “… Bond, that was a truly dreadful pun,” he informed the agent, face now scarlet.

"I’m aware, but the offer still stands," Bond told him, smirk twitching across his face.

"Well then," Q managed, coughing awkwardly. "I must say I… Erm. Well," he regained his composure readjusting his glasses and looking over the frames to Bond. "What makes you think you’ll be the one shocking me, Mr Bond?"


	567. Chapter 567

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hellos? how are you so um prompt righty then what if Q is working at night all by himself and hes using hot tools like an iron maybe ? but any ways maybe his hand slips or he doesn’t move fast enough and he ends up with a burn not badly but still enough to make him want to sit down and cry and sense theres no one around to see him he does but then James walks in and makes it all better with cuddles and kisses – tobiismycat

Eventually, the tiredness became too much.

Q found himself with a burnt hand, a broken blowtorch, and decided enough was enough; he simply found himself sat next to his workbench, and cried.

Fuck, he was  _so fucking tired_.

Crying felt stupidly comfortable. It was just a final way of expunging the tiredness and exhaustion and hurt and all the negativity and so he indulged, really and truly indulged in it, crying like a child and letting his entire body rack with sobs.

Q didn’t hear the footsteps. He let out a yell of raw shock when somebody reached out to him, focusing through bleary eyes and myopia at double-oh seven.

Bond didn’t say anything, and neither did Q.

Instead, Bond simply wrapped his arms around his Quartermaster, and Q continued to cry.

Distantly, it did occur to Q that this was probably weird. Probably weird, and probably not entirely sane or healthy, but Bond was warm and was holding him like he was important, like he mattered, and so Q just let his body mould into another’s, and could barely think outside the simple bracket of his own tears.

They remained like that for a while.

Eventually, the tears began to slow, to dry, to stop.

Bond gently wiped away the dampness with a tissue, and Q couldn’t help but snort slightly at the oddity of it all. “Are you…?”

“Don’t,” Bond said simply, softly, arresting speech. “Nothing to be said. It’s all alright. Is there anything you need? Right now?”

Q took a moment. Shook his head.

Bond smiled slightly. “Okay. I’m going to make you some tea, and have a look at your hand, it looks painful. Do you want to stay here, or come with me?”

“Come with,” Q answered, without much hesitation, or indeed concern for his pride. He had no desire to be left alone whatsoever. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey. I said no talking,” Bond teased, expression open and utterly forgiving. “Come on. Tea fixes everything.”

“True,” Q murmured, and let Bond help him to his feet, feeling shockingly tired but somehow,  _somehow_ , better.


	568. Chapter 568

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) I’m loving all your work as usual and I have another prompt for you! Q is a perfectionist and likes to have everything in his office and all of Q Branch in perfect order and perfectly straight ((basically OCD but I don’t want to be mean)) and Bond discovers this while messing around Q’s office one day and he has a prank war with Q and moves EVERYTHING 3 cm to the left ((if that makes any sense at all)) thanks!! – shertealocked

Bond had never really noticed it: Q’s office was neat, that was all there was to it.  _Very_ neat, true. A little unnervingly neat, to be honest. It had the air of a show-office, if there was such a thing: everything in its place, everything labelled, with shelves stacked by someone who had spent a little too long playing tetris as a child.

Bond had been waiting for the Quartermaster to return from some meeting or other, when unhappy accident had led to an upturned tea mug and Bond manically shuffling papers on Q’s desk.

Q had returned and looked more than a little horrified, it took him minutes to clear up the spill and to place everything back. Exactly in line, to the millimetre. Bond decided not to comment, given that the man was already fuming at his incompetence; he filed the event down as needing further research, and left before Q killed him.

Next time Bond was called in, it was a little thing. Moving a stapler. Q’s hand reached out and corrected the movement automatically, eyes never leaving the computer screen. Bond narrowed his eyes slightly, went after the boxes on the shelf next, changing the angle by a few degrees.

Sure enough, next time he went in, they were back in their place.

If Q noticed his little alterations, he didn’t show it.

It was petty, Bond knew that. It was even pettier to call in both Eve and 006 to help him. But  _damn it_ , he wanted the man to at least acknowledge the issue. Eve found it childish – there was a comment along the lines of pulling pigtails – and was entirely certain that Q would go out to dinner with him if Bond just  _asked_.

Alec found it hilarious, and lived to troll people. He agreed without a single heartbeat of hesitation.

So, in the middle of the night, the three made their way to Q’s office. All three had rulers. With more effort and concern than Bond was fairly certain Alec had applied to his last four missions combined, the trio set about moving every item in Q’s office exactly 3cm to the left. They left swiftly, admiring their efforts.

It took Q most of the morning to calm down and the rest of the day to sort out his office.

Bond was fairly certain he was going to be fired.

Q still didn’t mention it to him. Nothing happened. For a week or so, Bond gradually allowed himself to slip into a false sense of security. Maybe Q hadn’t checked the security tapes. Maybe he didn’t care that much. Maybe.

His cards died first. No cash, no credit. Nothing. Bond was forced to walk to work, only to find his ID unregistered. After an hour, someone finally came and took pity on him.

"You’re late 007," Mallory commented as Bond took his seat in the briefing room.

"Issue with my card sir," Bond told him grimly.

Oddly, M decided not to comment - that really should have tipped him off.

His paperwork was gone. The past three missions he had so carefully written up had been wiped from the system. The notes were still there, but the files had vanished. Bond nearly broke the damn screen. Fuming, he picked up his phone, watching as the screen melted into black. A single message blazed across the screen.

_One all._


	569. Chapter 569

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awesome stories they are just adorable.. I wanted to prompt for alwaysagirl!Bond (genderbending) where her and 006 are best friends but 006 wants more. but she doesn’t want to mess up their friendship for sex, so they stay friends only, until Silva’s stalking. Soo 007 realizes she really only feels safe with 006 and they end up together. No non-con please! If the other 00s or Q & Eve or Tanner & female!M, etc. warn BOTH 006 & 007 to treat each other right that’d be funny too! – anon

Bond would sleep with most people, anyone really - it was one of her greatest weapons.

Except Alec.

The pair had become fast friends shortly after meeting; Bond had floored him within moments, which was always an encouraging sign. It had always seemed natural that more would eventually happen, but somehow, they had never quite managed it.

It wasn’t that Bond wasn’t interested, per se, but sex was part of the job and it simply didn’t do to mix business and pleasure. Bond had seen far too many friendships destroyed by something as mundane as sex. Quite frankly, Alec just mattered too much.

Then Skyfall.

Then Silva.

The man haunted her, in a way Bond had never quite experienced before. The implications, the feel of his hands lingering on her thighs. The sight of Severine crumbling, scotch dripping down through her hair.

_See who comes out on top…_

Shuddering, Bond tried to put all thoughts of the man out of her mind. Gun in hand, she looked levelly across the target range, firing off a few shots; not perfect, still not perfect. Her marksmanship skills had yet to fully recover.

"007?"

Bond turned, to find Q leaning against the door.

"Quartermaster," she nodded politely, and returned to the target.

Q moved over, picking up a gun of his own. “You’re improving.”

"If you are going to try and give me tips, I may be forced to remove your testicles," Bond told him, taking aim, smirking very slightly. "If they’ve managed to descend yet, that is."

"Hilarious," Q replied, taking aim and firing. Perfect shot. Bond had to admit she was impressed. Q rolled his eyes. "I make them, Bond. I test them.

He placed the gun back down, apparently content that he had adequately shown off for one day. “You should talk to him,” he said, as though reading Bond’s thoughts.

Bond’s reply was immediate, but devoid of most vitriol: “Piss off Q.”

"You’d be good together.”

"Testicles, Q,"

"Got it."

Bond watched him leave, picking up her gun once again, retying her hair in a tighter knot.

_Not bad, for a physical wreck…_

-

Alec found her later, already a good amount of whisky gone. He said nothing; there was nothing to say, really. Bond just nodded a greeting, and Alec removed the bottle from her immediate vicinity.

"I don’t want to be alone any more," Bond told Alec quietly.

Alec just sat by her, and let her curl into his arms.


	570. Chapter 570

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once every 5 years MI6 does “MI6 Got Talent” and Bond always hates it, but this year it’s different because who knew the always-professional and neatly-dressed Quartermaster is actually a God when it comes to drums? :D

It was arguably the worst idea since replacing the vending machines for the ‘healthy’ vending machines which prompted an impromptu ‘chocolate strike’.

Bond rolled his eyes as yet  _another_  perfectly sane member of MI6 stood up on the makeshift stage to try and do something entertaining. Hannah from catering apparently could not juggle with hula hoops and was promptly escorted off the stage to a polite round of applause and some stifled giggles.

It was meant to be some sort of morale boosting, fundraising, team building event – and for Bond, it was torture. As one of MI6’s longest serving agents – and due to a recent cock up in Uganda – Bond had been picked to be on the judging panel this year. M sat next to him, watching the event with ill-disguised horror.

Alec had gone up earlier for a laugh, his talent apparently being able to shoot down multiple targets in a very short space of time. He was laughing so much by the end that he had missed four of them completely. Eve had floored the man who had suggested that she perform a strip tease, choosing instead to take the opportunity to prove to every one quite was a spectacular linguist she was - explaining how to bake a cake in no less than twelve different languages.

Bond was almost despairing as Gavin from M-branch was giving a meek round of applause for his egg swallowing routine.

"Lunch soon?" Bond mouthed as M looked to the gods hopefully.

Then, Q appeared.

Bond felt his heart drop. Surely not,  _surely_  not the sarcastic, talented, newly appointed Quartermaster. Surely he had more sense.

Apparently not.

Bond braced himself, ready with his best ‘how wonderful, well done’ smile and more sarcasm than Q would know what to do with.

That was before the drum kit appeared. It was not the biggest shock of the day, not quite.  _That_  came in the form of what happened next; Q took a moment, removing his cardigan, folding it neatly, before painstakingly rolling up his shirt sleeves. He took up his sticks and begun to play.

Bond’s jaw dropped. M looked as though he had been slapped, the whole room was looked in fascination as the young man proceeded to crank out arguably the best drum solo any of them had ever heard.

It went on for almost three minutes, Q moving like a demon, never once dropping his rhythm. The very air in the room felt electric with energy, and Q was the epitome of calm, smiling with a quiet calm as he worked his way around, and it was transparent that he genuinely  _enjoyed_  it, his body and entire being moving with music.

Very abruptly, it stopped.

Utter silence.

Q allowed himself a small, nervous smile, looking up from behind his glasses. No one moved. No one breathed for a moment. Then, thunderous applause. Even Bond was on his feet, whooping and cheering as Q blushed scarlet.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Alec called over the din. Q simply shrugged, before picking up his sticks and leaving the stage.


	571. Chapter 571

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ummm could I request a fill where James and Q experience hate from extreme Christians when they are out in public and James defends Q? – anon

Q closed his eyes slightly, and let out a slow breath.

It was not uncommon. The problem was that it was so bloody well-meaning, for the most part. Tentative kind words from serene men and women who were absolutely certain they were doing the right thing for some misguided young men, and they spoke softly and carefully and told them God would show them a way, and Q breathed out and breathed in and told himself to keep doing so.

He did.

Bond was angry, of course he was angry. Q was too, but there was little to be gained in demonstration. These things happened. They would keep on happening, and it was getting tiring to keep on having the same conversations.

Mainly because the quiet voices turned hard, and Q’s matched and Bond’s matched; they tried to walk away, to find cruel words slung at their backs. Not angry – they were too sycophantically  _nice_  for that – but words that cut and lingered somewhere in the back of a mind, waiting and throwing seeds of uncertainty over a relationship that, like all relationships, had problems of its own.

Q didn’t tell Bond he was religious until they were in a relationship, and had been for a little while. Usually, expressing religion was a sure-fire way to wind up with obvious distrust and intermittent snide asides, so it seemed simplest to avoid the topic.

It made the conversations just a little bit harder.

So when Bond started to talk back, Q had no idea what to do with himself.

“Your god believes in love, correct?”

The three of them – two women, one man – were shocked for a moment, a quiet type of silence falling. “God preaches that we should love one another as neighbours, first and foremost, and that marriage is a union…”

“Alright. I love him. I am an atheist. He is not. He believes in the same god as you do – you’re on the same side. He has a choice, and he has his own connection with God; he has been created this way, and your god will love him as His creation. Leave us alone. I know you mean well, but I’ve had enough.”

Bond took Q’s hand, and led him away while the three were still speechless. They began to talk after him, but Bond squeezed Q’s hand, let them slip away somewhere unseen.

Q just looked at him.

“I love you,” Bond told him, entirely unapologetically.

There was no further explanation needed. Q just smiled, slightly shyly, and didn’t let go of his hand.


	572. Chapter 572

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my dream angsty fic prompt. Bond fakes his death again (for a reason), not knowing that omega!Q is pregnant. After that, Q feels completely abandoned. Unexpectedly, Mallory tries his best to help Q cope with everything Q’s trough and is being caring and supportive. In a few years, Bond comes back to find out that Q had quit MI-6 and is happily married and raising two beautiful children (one of which is Bond’s and one is Mallory’s). The ending is up to you! – anon

Bond looked shockingly good, for a man who had been dead for about four years.

Q nearly had a heart attack, punched him, and vanished into some distant part of MI6; it took Bond a scarily long time to find him again, at which stage parts of his world ended and stopped turning altogether.

In M’s office, he could smell it everywhere. His Omega was not merely not his own, but very much M’s – of all bloody people – and he sat with Q by him, Q looking extremely pale and shaking slightly. “What?” Bond asked slowly.

“You know you’re lucky to have even found me there?” Q asked, a little tonelessly. “I only work on a consultant basis. Of all days, of all  _bloody_  days, James fucking Bond comes back from the  _fucking_  dead…”

M’s hand was moving in comforting circles on the back of his Omega’s neck, and Q was trying hard to relax and mostly failing. “Bond, a full debrief will be required – for now, I…”

Bond had stopped responding.

On M’s desk was a picture frame, holding an image of a family, and Bond couldn’t breathe.

Two young children, M grinning, and Q falling out of shot but quite distinctly there; a _family_ , children.  _Children_.

“You were gone,” Q said simply, seeing Bond’s gaze still and stop. “I was  _pregnant_ , James. Ellie, she’s yours, and Gareth – M – he was there for me, throughout, when you weren’t. I won’t apologise.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Bond murmured.

The silence was absolute.

“What happened?” Q asked, with awful quiet, with pain.

Bond was still looking at the photograph. “They’re beautiful,” he said softly, before seeming to come to himself. “I had to disappear. My cover was blown, the mission fell to pieces, and I was in deep cover – MI6 couldn’t do a damned thing, I was too far gone within the mechanism of the group I was working for.”

M nodded slightly, and Q didn’t seem to be breathing any more.

Further silence.

“I couldn’t wait forever,” Q told him, not unkindly.

Bond nodded, blank. “I know,” he replied, and stood. “I’ll… I need a moment, then I will report in fully.”

M mutely dismissed him.

The moment he was gone, Q pretty much fell into him, breathing in his Alpha’s scent and trying to make his head stop whirling.


	573. Chapter 573

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello i have a little prompt: Q is beaten and humiliated by his boyfriend. James (who begins to realize that he is in love with the Q) discovers this and decides to settle the matter on his own way. Then decides to show Q as it looks real, healthy relationship. Angst. Many uncertain and sad Q. Pretty Please? ;-) – anon

Q could never deny he was relatively strong, relatively confident human being, as a whole. Usually, there weren’t a tremendous number of problems with communication, with snark, with a façade that remained absolutely impeccable.

Andrew was just a fact. It wasn’t that complicated. Andrew was a fact, and Q hated it but it was not going to change in the imminent future; if he tried, he stood a decent chance of winding up very dead, which did not appeal tremendously.

Q kept going.

Bond could read bodies. He could physical pain; it was his job, after all. All of the active agents could, but Bond had always been exceptionally good, even amongst the agents. The subtle lean of weight. It was only tiny, but Bond had a mind that forced curiosity, would not lie still when he could half-see and the curiosity was everywhere.

Q had tried to deny it, and failed spectacularly, which was the point at which Bond became quietly homicidal towards whoever had hurt his quartermaster; Q was exceptional, Q was young, and Q was not  _that_  physically adept, but that wasn’t the _point_  because hell, nobody should be beating up another human being.

When Bond realised it was Q’s partner, the calm of untouchable fury descended.

Andrew disappeared.

Q didn’t ask questions. It seemed simplest.

The hurts healed, but they took time. On a very basic level, Q found his ribs bound up and the bruises softened from purple to green to gone, and he couldn’t look Bond in the eye any longer because the shame at having let it happen ate into his bones.

Bond had never judged him, and that was almost worse.

“You must think I’m pathetic,” he murmured at one stage, staring at a scar on the back of his hand, perfectly round, where a cigarette had been extinguished once.

Bond reached out, palm up, an offering that Q ignored for a moment. “I don’t. I never could.”

Q moved very slowly, but placed his hand over Bond’s.

Trust.

Bond refused to let anything move quickly. Q needed time to heal, and Bond needed time to illustrate what it was, to love somebody quite entirely and not do a damned thing to hurt them.

Q had no idea, and it was heartbreaking, and Bond worked regardless because he could and he had to. Q deserved that much.

Their first kisses were quiet things, and soft in a way neither knew they could be.

When Q smiled, Bond’s world lit.

It was more than enough.


	574. Chapter 574

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about an age swap prompt? Bond is a young agent and Q is an experienced Quartermaster? – anon

Q sat back, rubbing his temples. James Bond, the bane of his fucking life. The man was barely in his twenties, a complete loose cannon, drinker, smoker, womaniser. Honestly it was a miracle the man was still alive.

"No, your other left, Bond," Q tried, smiling gratefully to Eve as she handed him a mug of tea. He had been quartermaster for slightly over a decade, and the veneer was wearing thin.

Q watched with quiet interest, the young man’s head darting around frantically. “Where is he?”

"Maybe I would know if you hadn’t lost him," Q replied lightly, trying to find their target and getting mildly annoyed around the edges.

Bond’s voice remained carefully moderated, attempting nonchalance with debatable effect. “I was busy.”

"Sleeping with a prostitute is not ‘busy’ Bond," Q informed him coolly.

Bond sounded genuinely aggrieved, to Q’s amusement. “I wasn’t paying, and she gave me useful information.”

"So useful, in fact, that you managed to lose her pimp; well done," Q returned, somewhat sarcastically. "Ah, got him, next right."

"You’re getting slow old man," Bond told him through a laugh.

Q narrowed his eyes. He was a few years shy of forty, and hardly looked it. A few grey streaks through otherwise impressively messy hair, and the glasses came as standard. “Do you want equipment the next time you are out in the field 007, or shall I just send you out with a stick and a condom,” Q asked, as Bond followed his co-ordinates.

"Who said I needed the stick?”

"How are you still disease free?" Q asked, as Bond engaged in a round of gun fire.

"Someone been checking my records?" Bond quipped, as he moved on. "You know, the dinner offer still stands…"

"Married, 007," Q told him, eyes locked onto the computer screen.

"You’re lying," Bond replied easily. "I checked."

"Fine, old, alone and living with cats," Q retorted as Bond performed a truly frightening feat of dexterity, clearing the roof he was on and moving to the next.

Q tried not to smirk as Bond replied: “I’ll pick you up as soon as I get back,” Bond said brightly.

"Just concentrate on the damn target, Bond."


	575. Chapter 575

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Your fics are brilliant and I have a prompt! A superhero and/or supervillain au would be lovely. Bounce points if its either golden age or silver age inspired. Lots of love

"What sort of a name is 007?"

"What sort of a name is  _Q_?”

It was how the pair had met, on a silent London street at 3am. 007 was a typical hero type; large muscles, increased strength and speed, though his main talent appeared to be his incredible healing abilities - he was bloody hard to kill. Q had discovered this after shooting him in the chest.

007 had been rather good about the whole affair; he had, after all, been ‘sneaking around’ as Q had put it.

'Q' meanwhile was a technological marvel, able to interact directly with any piece of technology put in front of him, mostly via a connection point in the back of his neck. He had always had the ability, the connection point just amplified it.

Given that on their first meeting Q wasn’t quite following the city’s laws, the pair had not exactly hit it off. After the first shot to the chest, Q had then had to explain quite _why_  he was hacking into the national grid. Apparently boredom wasn’t a good enough excuse.

007 could not fly, what he could do was pick up the young man and dangle him by his ankles out of the nearest window until he talked.

"Fine, look it’s only a cover, my partner needed it!" Q said eventually, as the floor looked up at him from very far below. "Please, I didn’t want to, I just… you don’t know him!"

"What’s his name?" 007 grunted, as Q shook.

"Silva," Q replied, "Now for god’s sake,  _stop it_.”

"Silva?" 007 repeated, yanking Q back in. Q nodded, head spinning. 007 paused, considering him; if the boy was telling the truth then he could be an incredible asset. Silva was well known amongst the underground circles. His ability to heal himself rivalled Bond’s own - though an accident a few years ago had left his face permanently damaged. He was also an excellent marksman and computer hacker, though whether that was superhuman remained to be seen.

"Why are you helping him?" 007 asked. He had been careful to disarm the boy fully, having caught him with a wire locked into his head.

Q hesitated for a while, letting out a breath. “I owe him a debt,” he said quietly.

"Help me catch him and I will see what I can do about the charges against you?" 007 offered.

Q looked him up and down, eyes narrowing. “You’re serious? You think you can protect me from him?”

"I’ll do my best,” 007 told him, and took his hand, ready to make them vanish.


	576. Chapter 576

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about Bond + Q have to go undercover at a BDSM club? Bond thinks Q will be nervous as he thinks Q is so innocent/inexperienced then he finds out Q is a BDSM expert and quite possibly the pushiest bottom ever! – anon

Bond took one look at the man, and his mouth went utterly dry; somebody had been very thorough in what to dress Q in, had clearly done research and quite a bit of lateral thinking to work out what he would look best in.

The trousers were literally obscene, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination and causing a mild haemorrhage to Bond when he looked at Q’s groin. The collar was tight and thin, black vest top, a shirt loosely over the top, boots. “Christ,” Bond muttered. “Alright then. Shall we?”

“Of course,” Q returned, in his usual crisp tone, and stalked forward; he glanced back a moment later, seemingly confused. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you planning to be my dom, or not? I’d assume we were going to start assuming character from the outset – not to mention that you’re concealing your arousal exceptionally poorly.”

Bond blinked, a little confused. “Hang on – do you… I mean, are you aware of how…”

“Of how this works?” Q completed, expression vaguely pitying. “Oh dear, Mr Bond. You have absolutely no concept, do you? I’m hardly a wilting flower. Now please, do dominate, if you are actually able.”

A raised eyebrow, and Q was half-lifted off the floor, pressed against the wall. “You see, the least you could do is actually try for some  _conviction_ ,” Q muttered, entirely unimpressed.

“You’re a little shit, have I mentioned this?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Sticks and stones, Bond, now kindly prove you can do this, before I abort this mission on the grounds that you’re useless.”

Bond could honestly he had very rarely been so shocked; he pulled Q back, before _slamming_  him into the wall; Q’s eyes widened incrementally, before he practically _purred_. “You will address me as ‘sir’,” Bond told him. “Hard limits?”

“Fluid play, and degradation. I’m good with most other things, but if you’re planning something off the beaten track, please do warn me first. Safeword is ‘microsoft’.”

“Mine is Skyfall, unsurprisingly,” Bond returned, with something of a grim smile. “And that would be ‘ _sir_ ’, to you.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Make me.”

Bond slapped him without a heartbeat of hesitation. “Duly noted, sir,” Q managed back, when he had his breath back, and his expression was naked interest, raw passion. “Now, shall we, double-oh seven?”

“Let’s.”


	577. Chapter 577

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dating for a long time, Bond and Q finally move in together into a new flat. They’re hopelessly in love with each other, but even that isn’t enough to save them from the unavoidable: combining their living spaces and habits and everything. I want tiny little things like Bond preferring satin/silk sheets and Q liking rough cotton better, arguments over the arranging of books and kitchen things, and so on. TIA! <3 – anon

Q paused, breathing in the room.

Finally.

After two and a half years of dating James Bond, finally,  _finally_  they were moving in together. They had been mostly living at Q’s, Bond spending a good proportion of his time out of the country. After much discussion, deliberating and house viewings, they had found this place.

Neither was on an overly moderate salary, but London was still an expensive place to own a house. So they were on the ground floor, two bedroom, and enough space for R to run around in. It had been hard to find a place to their exact specifications - modern, combined kitchen diner, cat friendly, small garden, good location etc. But this had been perfect.

Q smiled as he felt an arm snake around his middle. “It’s ours,” Bond commented, looking around the room. Unfurnished, they had enough things to fill it, things that were currently packed into boxes all around the room.

"Let’s get started," Q said suddenly, heading for the nearest box.

It took ten minutes before the first ‘discussion’.

"I thought those curtains were for the spare room," Q commented, as Bond moved towards their room. He looked down to the fabric.

"No, no we agreed that we wanted a darker colour scheme," Bond reminded him.

Q frowned, moving to look at the curtains. “No, I’m sure we said that it would be better to have the green in ours and the blue in the spare.”

"No," Bond countered. "Because you said they reminded you of my eyes."

"Of course," Q smiled, nodding for Bond to go.

That had been the start. By the time Eve arrived to help, they were in a blazing row.

"… said that it would be a bloody  _awful_  idea!” Q yelled, mug in hand to prevent him from physically assaulting his partner; he had to concentrate on spilling the stuff.

Bond was unapologetically ranting. “That’s because you have no concept of interior design!”

"Says the man who has never lived in a house for more than twelve hours at a time!"

"Erm, hello," Eve waved, both men turning to her, red faced. "Everything alright?"

"Please tell my boyfriend that placemats would work better inside the dresser and not on fucking display," Q requested, eyes glinting.

"I…" Eve began, looking down to the offending placemats. "Well…"

"Perhaps, Eve agrees with me, and thinks that they would look better as a feature part of the design if we display them on the shelf rather than hiding them in a drawer!" Bond snapped.

Eve let out a small breath. “Why don’t you just put them on the table?” she suggested, looking over the Picasso-inspired mats.

The men looked to each other, then to the table.

Both managed almost-unison disparaging snorts.

"No, don’t be ridiculous…"

"We couldn’t possibly…"

And that was the beginning of the day Eve Moneypenny almost committed a double homicide.


	578. Chapter 578

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’re still taking requests: a la Mr and Mrs Smith, Bond and Q are both agents working for different secret government agencies and end up getting each other as a target. – anon

“See you later, love.”

Q waved absentmindedly at the door, spine rippling slightly as he sat up properly at his computer; this was not going to be a particularly pleasant day.

To be fair, their marriage had been dying for a little while. It was something of a foregone conclusion. Nevertheless, Q had held out some vague hope that they would reconcile, which was now proving to be an entirely  _vain_  hope given that he was intending to kill the man later that day.

Bond was having the same problem.

They had been together for a number of years, accidently meeting while both running from the CIA – that had been an altogether unpleasant venture – and accidently wound up in love.

Except that Q did his research, and found that James Bond was working for UK intelligence services.

Except that Bond was called into the office, to be told that the mysterious hacker who’d been decimating their internal servers was, in fact, Bond’s husband.

Bond was about to go into work, to be told that he needed to eliminate his own husband. Q, who could see that the order was about to deployed, was aware that he needed to get there first.

That evening, Bond arrived home. It had to be said, he didn’t look overwhelmingly pleased; he had his War Face on, several pistols about his person, and Q just looked up and raised an eyebrow. “I can’t quite believe it’s taken this long,” he said quietly, and withdrew his own Walther.

They were both very, very good shots. They were also both very used to one another, and could predict movements, were ready to undermine the other without undue effort. Thus, their battle trashed most things in the vicinity – Q quite intelligently had packed all his computer equipment and hidden it out of the way of damage – and culminated in the pair holding pistols millimetres from one another’s head. “Drop it,” Bond growled.

“Same to you,” Q replied primly. “MI6? Seriously?!”

“And you…”

“Work independently, I’m hired for various jobs,” Q returned simply. “MI6 borrowed my expertise at one stage, albeit without knowing who I was. I do the job, I get paid, I go home. To you, I might add.”

Bond stayed very still. “You knew.”

“I knew,” Q agreed, very sadly. “I saw the documentation this morning. I wanted to run, but I know MI6 would have kept tracking me until the ends of the earth. You, particularly. I know what you’re like when you feel betrayed.”

Bond was utterly paralysed, face white. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly.

“Then don’t,” Q returned, with only the slightest shadow of a plea in his voice.

It was Q. His Q.

Bond put the gun down.

Q grinned, placed his to one side.

“I hate you.”

Q launched himself at the man, holding onto him tightly. “I hate you, too,” he said fondly, as Bond’s arms curled around him.


	579. Chapter 579

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write a Star Trek AU where Q is Bones’ beloved son, and he doesn’t approve of Bond, whom is the same as Jim, which obviously makes him angry. Thanks! – googlechrome

“God  _damn it_  Bond, he’s my  _son_.”

Bond looked delightedly unapologetic; he glanced to Q, winked, and noted the small smirk that he got in return. “He likes me too,” Bond pointed out; Bones looked sharply at Q, who glanced at his feet and shrugged.

When Bones looked away, Q looked up, and shot Bond a somewhat aggravated look; he wasn’t making anything better. “Dad, he’s alright…”

“He sleeps with  _everything_ ,” Bones returned, with something of a roar in his tone. “ _Everything_.”

Bond gaped slightly. “I do  _not_.”

Bones and Q looked at him in precise unison. Q rolled his eyes. Bond looked a little sheepish.

“Alright – I’ve been faithful to him,  _only_  him, since we started…”

Q made rapid, frantic signs  _abort, Bond, abort…_

“Since you…”

Bones trailed off, eyes getting a little wider, mouth thinning into a flat line. “Q McCoy, explain.  _Now_.”

Q let out a slight sigh, looking at Bond balefully before returning attention to his father. “Dad, it’s alright. He cares about me, he wouldn’t do anything stupid. If he does, feel free to chuck him out into open space. Or dump him somewhere unpleasant. Seriously. I’ll help.”

“I bet you would,” Bones grumbled, still watching Bond with the distrustful contempt of a father. “Q, you want him.”

Q glanced between his father and his lover, and nodded slightly. “Definitely.”

Bones’s expression was legendary.

“Just for the record,” he said, with tangible annoyance. “I think this is damned stupid.”

“I gathered,” Q returned lightly.

Bond watched Bones’s eyebrow disappear most of the way to his hairline. “Watch your mouth,” he grumbled, and stalked away, back towards Medical.

A moment of silence.

“Well,” Bond commented. “That could have been worse.”

Q whacked him. “Don’t be an idiot, or I’ll stun you,” he returned, and turned to leave; he glanced back quickly, when Bond didn’t follow. “Are you coming?” he quipped.

Bond smiled slightly, and followed his sanctioned lover back to the bridge.


	580. Chapter 580

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I have a fic where the minions think James and Q are having sex in his office but their pretending because it really screws with the minions? – anon

Q was desperately trying to absolutely  _cackle_  with laughter, as Bond let out another low moan,  _fuck fuck yes god yes_  and on the cameras, the minions all had gone rather pale and rather pasty, one looking a little nauseous, R just rolling her eyes.

Bond was absolutely brilliant at the faking-sex thing. Q tried, but always found himself a little less vocal – an ironic contrast to their actual sex life – and so instead found himself making whimpering sounds and gasping occasionally, due to laughter rather than sex, but he would make of it what he would.

Honestly, Q just wanted to get some work done in peace; the only way to ensure no minions ever annoyed him was to get Bond involved. Sometimes actual sex happened, sometimes it was entirely fake, but either way, Q laughed himself silly; the act itself was easy enough to simulate, and nobody would knock on the office door until either Bond or Q emerged.

The ‘afterglow’ would last anywhere between an hour and two days.

Q knew that R guessed it was fake.

He had  _no idea_  that she would knock on the door anyway.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said loudly, as Bond’s eyes widened, and he let out a low moan. “Go away, I’m busy.”

“Like hell you are.”

_… there, there, you like that, you…_

Q watched on the monitor as R sighed out slightly. “Q, we’ve all seen footage, we know how you two work. Now stop pretending to have sex. I need to talk to you.”

The minions were moving.

_Fuck_ , Q thought again to himself, watching the encroaching collection of rather irate minions. “Not good,” he mouthed to Bond.

Bond shrugged.

He then grabbed Q, and kissed him messily.

On the monitor, R was busy breaking into Q’s office. More fool her.

By the time the door swung open, Q was whimpered into Bond’s mouth, Bond fucking him quite happily into the desk.

R just stood there stupidly for a moment. “I hate you,” she muttered at the pair of them, closed the door, and went – along with all the other minions – to bleach her retinas.


	581. Chapter 581

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a 00Q prompt. James and Q go on Vacation in America. Q begs and James relents and they go to Disneyworld. Q totally goes crazy wanting to ride everything and wearing the ears and making James as well. eating everything bad Making james ride Its a small world. Q acting like he is 10 years old James having to deal. but secretly loving it and disneyland. enjoying Epcot and such. just a total disney experience btw you guys rock!!! – anon

Bond was wondering whether he should just drug the man. It would probably be simplest.  Definitely kindest for all concerned. Would probably mean Bond would finally get a little bit of rest, would feel better about the world and could actually get some  _sleep_  without his hysterically excited partner bouncing on the bed.

No exaggeration. Bouncing on the bloody bed.

_Nobody should allow Q sugar_ , Bond thought bitterly, as Q dragged him onto  _Thunder Mountain_  for the fourth time that day. “Q, this is…”

“James, this is  _so much fun_. Thank you,  _thank you_  for saying we could do this, really, this is the best thing…”

Bond would have drugged him. Definitely.

Except that he was  _so happy_.

Q was an amazing person to be around, when deliriously happy. He had a curious way of making the air and sky and everything around him bright, and Bond couldn’t help but smile and let him do whatever the hell he wanted, just to keep his smile alive.

Bond was also very aware that he hadn’t allowed himself  _fun_  in a surprisingly long time – and this was it. This was just unmitigated, mad, pointless fun. Yes, he probably should have been doing something more important, probably  _could_  have been saving the Western world from something or other, but he didn’t  _want_  to when he could be here, with Q, dropping not-very-subtle hints that he wanted to go on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride again.

The look Q sent him was quietly amused, and he agreed happily, on the condition that Bond wore the Mickey Mouse ears.

It was probably the most humiliating thing Bond would ever do. He did it willingly. Q looked like several Christmases had come early. “I love you,” he said excitably, as Bond retrieved an autograph from Princess Aurora for Q’s collection. “This is the  _best holiday ever_.”

Bond kissed him gently, and let Q guide him onto the next ride.


	582. Chapter 582

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) I was wondering if you could do an omega!verse fic where Bond and Q are just hanging out or cuddling (not sex please) and Bond’s all dominant but at the same time super gentle with Q. I just love all your writing :) thank you for doing such lovely works! – anon

Q was always the one who fell asleep first.

Bond would hold him, wrap arms around him, wrap his body around and cocoon Q from the world and everything in it, and Q smiled sleepily and dozed off with Bond’s body still wrought with tension, guarding him.

By increments, quiet and unsteady increments, Bond’s body would start to relax.

Q would snuggle closer to in towards him, making little noises of discomfort when he wasn’t wrapped properly around him, and Bond just kissed the back of his neck very gently and breathed him in.

He always smelt perfect. It was one of the things Bond could always count on: Q smelt right, always smelt comforting and safe and warm. Odd, perhaps, but something that dependable was always welcome.

“I love you, you know,” Q mumbled, half-yawning, twisting around to burrow further into Bond’s chest. “My James.”

“My Q,” Bond growled into his hair, Q nodding absentmindedly and letting Bond haul him in further, their bodies pressed almost painfully together, Bond’s hands still extraordinarily gentle.

Everything about him spelt care, spelt love.

Bond whispered promises into Q’s ear as he slept, promised to keep him safe, promised to never stop loving him.

Q would just smile, and pretend he was still asleep.

Bond would never say it aloud if he knew.


	583. Chapter 583

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because of a lot of personal problems I have a super angsty prompt which I would really appreciate you filling, either from brain cancer or injury or something James now suffers from random convulsive seizures, he and Q are still together and trying to make it work. – anon

Q could only hold on, wait, hope, clean up, move on.

Bond just waited for the next, and continued to wonder why in the  _hell_  Q was still there each time, every single time, watching him die by increments and still smiling, still loving him at the end of a day.

“You could go,” Bond points out, as Q mops up his face, strokes hair out of his eyes, concentrates and hushes him gently as he continues his work with forehead just slightly crinkled. “Q.  _Q_. Why do you…”

Q places a single finger on Bond’s lip, and there is silence.

A little while later, when Bond is less exhausted and Q has a cup of tea in front of him, he speaks. “I love you,” he says, so simply, so awfully; Bond’s eyes snap to him, and he shrugs slightly. “I’d end earths to keep you safe, you know that. This is child’s play in comparison. Honestly.”

Bond looks at him, shakes his head slightly. “There is so much world out there…”

“I know,” Q interrupts, and places a very light kiss on his lips. “But you’re here, and I’m happy.”

Except, he can’t be happy.

It can’t make him  _happy_ , to see somebody he loves like this. It can’t make him  _happy_. Love is a wonderful and a beautiful and a brilliant thing, but surely it can’t survive this, surely it can’t survive the seizures themselves and Bond’s grief, his anger, the vacillations between need and want and hate, self-hate, the depression at losing everything he once was, the anger of his body fighting against him like that.

Q can’t be happy. Bond is certain of that.

Yet, Q stays anyway.

And sometimes ( _so often, so often it hurts him to think about it_ ) he wonders whether it would be kinder to leave. To force Q into that better life, and let him live it. Bond could do it; wrench himself away, disappear to some far-off part of the world and live on his own, survive on his own, and let Q rebuild.

Bond hates that he is too cowardly, too weak, to do it. He would, if he could, but he can’t lose Q any more than Q could lose him. It is selfish, and he  _knows that_ , but it isn’t enough to stop him clinging on with half-broken fingers to a man he knows deserves so much better.

Q would call him an idiot, if he knew just how deep the fears ran, just how deep the _hate_  ran, in Bond’s heart, pumping out anger ferociously at his own weaknesses and own bloody idiocy.

Love is an awful thing.


	584. Chapter 584

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omegaverse where everyone is fawning over Q’s pregnant belly (like even M and Tanner and Eve and the minions) and he just snaps – anon

Q was very far gone. He knew that. He was acutely bloody aware of that. It was a pain in the arse enough to have his belly sticking out from him as it was – and yet, everybody seemed to find it somehow  _necessary_  to comment. To fawn. To  _stroke_ , for the love of god, as if that was in any sense appropriate.

Everybody was terrible with it. The minions were the worse – they  _cooed_  – but other Alphas, including M, were just as terrible. M had become monstrously protective, as had R, and the Betas like Eve and Tanner were just finding the entire affair adorable.

Bond, of course, was normal. If Bond had been anything other than very careful, and very normal, Q would probably have killed him already.

No, Bond stayed silent, and just gently looked after Q from a distance, feeding him nice food and distracting him from the hormonal hell of pregnancy.

MI6 were masochistic morons.

The minions crowded again; Q had just been subjected to another scan, and was very happy but quite tired, and did not need the massed hoards asking him how it went. “All going well, Q, I hope…”

“You’re  _glowing_  today, Q, I just…”

“It’s getting closer now, can you feel them kick yet…”

A hand on his stomach.

“ ** _THAT IS IT!!!_** ”

Abrupt silence, across the entirety of Q-branch. Q was bright red, hand on his own stomach, trying to prevent himself from  _cutting off_  the hand of the moronic minion who had seen fit to try and pet him.

“I will say this once, and only  _fucking_  once: I am not public property, the moment I fall pregnant. Nor is my child. You do  _not_  all get free reign to talk about me, and to me, like I am no longer myself. I am your superior. You will treat me like I am. None of you are to lay a  _fucking finger_  on any part of my anatomy, far less my goddamn  _stomach_ , unless I’ve fucking  _invited_  you to. I’ve had entirely fucking enough of being a public point of interest and gossip, and I am warning all of you now: if this continues after the birth, and if you all become pathetic and intrusive morons around  _my child_ , I will have  _every single one of you_  shipped to somewhere hostile without any means of contact and see how long you last, it’ll be an impromptu MI6 hunger games,  _do I make myself clear?!_ ”

The silence was incredible.

The silence remained.

The silence was so profound nobody dared break it.

Q let out a breath, letting his heartbeat and blood pressure stabilise.

A moment later, he walked into his office with a terrifying degree of decorum, and quietly shut the door.

R moved first, and her voice was only a little bit strained: “Back to work.”

Q-branch moved.

Q smiled slightly to himself, in his office, finally content that he would be left the hell alone.


	585. Chapter 585

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what if Q runs around mi6 bare foot maybe the floors are warm ? maybe he just likes not having shoes on perhaps he has pretty socks on and likes to show people what ever the reason no one notices except for James one day – tobiismycat

It wasn’t quite that nobody knew; it was just that nobody had any idea what to say that wouldn’t be weird, patronising, or just inappropriate. The socks were really nice. Q was really nice. The entire situation was just  _odd_.

Bond, being Bond – ie having no social constraints, very little tact, and near enough zero awareness – just took one look, blinked slightly, and asked: “Why, esteemed Quartermaster, aren’t you wearing shoes?”

Q glanced up absentmindedly, looked to his feet, looked back to Bond. “I don’t want to,” he replied simply, and returned his attention to his work.

There was very little one could say to that.

“Q, it’s not exactly professional, is it?” Bond broached, relatively casually – there seemed no point in aggravating his Quartermaster – and was met with one of the most incredulous looks he had ever seen from the man. “Apologies. I was just…”

“Hush,” Q said, shaking his head a very little. “Enough. Nothing more. All done, here. I have no interest. Try and invade on my footwear choices again, and you’ll find me extremely unimpressed.”

“But…”

Q’s expression had absolutely no mercy. “No ‘buts’. Not another word. Not another _syllable_. Are we clear?”

Bond had nothing he could say. Nothing that wouldn’t be rather trite, and/or get his head ripped off in spectacular style. Instead, he just nodded. “Received and understood.”

Q smiled. “Thank you.”

He disappeared off, sliding slightly on the polished floors as he went, finding a large Ethernet-like cable with the most frightening end to it Bond had ever seen a wire possess. “Nice socks.”

Q’s head snapped up to him. “ _What did you say?!_ ”

The minions were quiet and wary and  _terrified_.

Bond grinned in a way that was nothing short of obnoxious. “Nothing, my dear Quartermaster,” he purred, and disappeared away to do damage elsewhere.


	586. Chapter 586

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a high end stripper that Alec buys for James for a night to make him feel better. – anon

The boy pouted, shirt peeling from slim shoulders to pool around his elbows, slipping the last few inches to the ground; Bond’s mouth had gone dry, and he could feel Alec’s eyes on him, assessing whether he had made the right call.

Fuck, he had. He really,  _really_  had.

‘Q’ was all he had deigned to name himself, and watching him at work, Bond simply found himself rendered putty. He had sworn to Alec that he was straight as a ruler – Alec had snorted slightly, and Bond understood why now – and abruptly, been faced with a young man with electric expressions and a body that made Bond’s entire being sway.

“Come with me,” the boy said over the music, extending a hand outward; Bond looked at it, raised an eyebrow, shook his head. The boy rolled his eyes, leaned in again – doing something with his hips en route that made Bond swallow sharply – and called in a voice like amber: “Your friend paid already. Yes?”

Bond looked up, and Alec winked.

Well, there was only so much resistance Bond was ever likely to put up, with a half-naked boy gyrating in front of him; he took the proffered hand and was led into a back room, curtain pulled across, the kid leaning forward.

“How much has my idiot of a friend paid for?” Bond asked, when the overloud music had been tempered.

Q twisted himself around, smiled coyly. “His credit card details, and carte blanche,” he purred, stalking forward on honest-to-god heels, bending, spine arcing to the half-heard music, leaning in to straddle the agent. “The question now remains – what would you  _like_?”

Bond leaned his own body in, Q grinning as he remained  _inches_  away, almost,  _almost_ giving Bond something to work with; their bodies never quite managed to touch, and Q was just the most impossible tease.

Example: a motion, and Bond could feel the boy’s breath trickling along the sides of his throat, tempting towards his mouth, cinnamon and heat and mint, before receding faster than Bond had known possible. “You’re a nightmare,” he said, with a sharp pant, a quick exhale.

Q grinned, winked. “I try. Having fun, sir?”

_Fuck_ , that  _voice_. “Immensely.”

The slightest, the very  _suggestion_  of a touch; Bond’s body spasmed as though electrocuted, Q’s expression becoming quietly amused, before softening to curiosity and want.

It occurred to Bond, briefly, that he must have cost a bloody  _fortune_.


	587. Chapter 587

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I’ve put a few prompts in here and was trying to hold back on putting more but this one just won’t go away. I heard the zone Unconditionally by Katy Perry and I totally see it as a 00Q song. So something with that. HAPPYNESS!!! – teamks

The files clunked on Q’s desk.

Q glanced up, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming this is your entire collected backlog of paperwork?” he asked with mildly acerbic lightness. “Given that…”

“It’s your files.”

Immediately, Q was utterly silent. His expression, body, closed off into a tight and angry knot that was somehow incredible to witness; he looked like he wanted to lash out and cry all at once, to rip a world to shreds between his teeth and most  _particularly_ Bond. “That was none of your business,” he said, in a low hiss. “I don’t know how, or what you did, but my history is  _not your concern_ …”

“Hey,” Bond interrupted, quite gently. “Q, calm. I wouldn’t read your files without permission, surely you know me better than that?”

Q looked horrendously, painfully vulnerable. The type of vulnerable that made Bond want to draw him close and never let him go, crush him inwards until he would  _know_ that Bond could never hurt him; even after months of dating, after stolen kisses and a light romance that was on the edges of escalation, Q didn’t trust him. Couldn’t.

Bond let out a small sigh. “You are aware that there is  _nothing_  in here that would make me love you any less?”

Love was new. Love was  _definitely_  new, and Q went rather white at the suggestion. “James…”

“This is all your past, I know that, and they’ve made you what you are now, et cetera et cetera but  _Q_ , you’re missing the point, which is that it’s  _past_. You’re you, and I love _you_. Good and bad, and yes, with your history. The bits you’ve told me, and not told me. Fuck, my own history isn’t exactly…”

“… auspicious…”

“…  _exactly_ ,” Bond completed, as Q watched him with an almost-confused edge, somehow lost. As though he couldn’t quite believe it was genuine. “Q, I love you.”

There that word was again. That word. That  _word_.

Bond moved closer, slipped his fingers in between Q’s, held onto him gently. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Bond said quickly, before Q succumbed to the semi-compulsive need to reciprocate that most people felt upon hearing the word ‘love’. “I’m just letting you know. Your past doesn’t matter.”

Q glanced up at him, and pushed the files forward. “Do you want to?” he asked, with a closed-off tension.

Bond returned his gaze steadily. “I’m curious, obviously,” he replied, with tremendous care. “Of course I’m curious, but I won’t read it – I’d prefer to hear it from you, if you want to.  _If_  you want to.”

Q nodded, smiled very slightly. “Not now,” he said, almost to himself, seeming almost surprised at having voiced it, “but yes. I’d like to… yeah. Maybe tonight?”

“Of course. I’ll pick you up at eight, I’m taking you to dinner.”

Q’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” Bond nodded. “Be ready.”

It was lovely, how Q looked like an infatuated teenager for a fragment of a second, before professionalism closed in and he returned to work.


	588. Chapter 588

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond have a little old Jewish lady next door who they adore. She makes them sweaters and Matzoh ball soup and she can curse a mean streak in Yiddish and drink James under the table. When they tell her about their job she says “that’s nice dears” and continues doing what she was doing before – anon

Ilana was a superbly fun person to have around. Q, in particularly, absolutely _adored_  her; he was technically Jewish, albeit non-practising, and it was nice to have a throwback to his childhood when his mother would behave with curiosity similarity.

When they had first moved in, Ilana had knocked on their door and presented them with an enormous Tupperware flask of soup. “For the house,” she had said simply. Q had invited her in, they had talked endlessly, and Bond had been rather confused when he came home that evening.

That was the stage when they had broken out the alcohol, and Bond had been proven a  _lightweight_  in comparison to Ilana. Bond could only watch, stunned, as she threw back shots that would have floored him in seconds.

“You’re brilliant,” he said, a little slurred.

Ilana simply nodded her agreement, and left Bond to sprawl over his partner in a drunken heap.

After that point, they just found themselves spending a lot of time together. Ilana hated mess, compulsively cleaned their flat whenever she entered, and cursed them in fluid Yiddish when she saw their kitchen; Q giggled like a teenager, and felt at home for the first time in a long while as the flat was permeated with the smells of the soup and Ilana baking a terrifyingly large amount of challah bread.

Ilana had been beating the hell out of dough at the time.

Q had been the one to make the executive decision. Being in MI6 made it harder for people they were closer to; Ilana could be in danger if they didn’t pre-warn her to take care, to truly look after herself.

“We work for the secret service. James is an active agent, I’m the head of the technological developments departments.”

Ilana looked between the two of them, smiled. “That’s lovely, dears,” she said simply, and returned to her vigorous beating – swearing intermittently at the dough itself, and its resilience – and really not quite seeming to grasp the gravity of her newly acquired information.

Bond and Q looked at one another. “Ilana, I…”

“Not now, this needs  _attention_ ,” she said, voice descending to something like a hiss as she beat the living hell out of the soon-to-be bread. “I know you’re busy boys.”

“I don’t think she’ll ever get it,” Q mumbled, looking a little lost.

Bond just shrugged. “I’m relatively sure she could survive most terrorist agencies,” he returned lightly, and made the rather brave move of extending his services in the bread-making venture.


	589. Chapter 589

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys’ fics, and the cute things on here stave my daily need for 00Q! Could I get an AU in which Q-Branch is the most unrecognized, underpaid, overcrowded, ignored and generally abused of the major departments? Even when Q arrives he can’t change much, as M won’t listen to a kid. Thing only change when 007 & Moneypenny become friends with Q & start hanging around more, & notice just how bad the Genii are being treated. – slytherin-queens

Q looked vaguely tired, but was still resolutely professional; he smiled and nodded at Bond as he entered, wearily repeated the same statutory phrases about returning the equipment in a passable state, and waved him away.

“Are you alright, Q?”

The younger man glanced up, looked over Bond in vague confusion. “Of course, Bond,” he replied calmly, and returned to his computer.

Bond and Eve were good friends, and bit by bit, the Quartermaster began to be too; he was a good conversationalist, an extremely funny young man with a whiplash sense of humour and the ability to be fondly condescending without making anybody want to kill him.

It was impressive. Everybody sort-of wanted to marry the man. Everybody who actually had taken the time to know him, that was; a lot of departments were stingingly unpleasant, something Bond and Eve continued to witness with mounting perturbation. “They are aware that you’re the most overworked…”

Q held up a hand, slightly weary, nodding. “I know,” he agreed. “They set us deadlines, we meet them, they push us harder because  _clearly_  if we’re meeting the deadlines, they’re not ambitious enough deadlines. This job is a perpetual delight.”

“Why are you letting…?”

“I’m not  _letting_  them do anything,” Q retaliated sharply.

Eve and Bond fell utterly silent. Q was still, almost painfully so for a moment, before his body relaxed somewhat. “Look, I love what I do,” Q explained, with careful honesty. “It’s hard – they don’t appreciate us as a department, I know that. But I don’t want to lose this job. They’ll work it out, at some stage, just how important we are – and when they do, believe me, it will be amusing.”

Bond remained neutral, as Eve’s mouth quirked into a smile. “What do you mean?”

“That would be telling,” Q replied with teasing calm, and moved back into his branch with quiet confidence.


	590. Chapter 590

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I love your prompts, you are both fantastic. Could I ask for a prompt? Something 00Q and omegaverse with Omega!Q, maybe Q going into heat at work. Q and Bond could already be in a relationship or not, whichever you prefer. NSFW please. Thank you. – anon

While it was common knowledge that the Quartermaster was an omega, honestly, the issue never really came up. Q took suppressants, birth control and was one of the most terrifying people in MI6. Bond would admit that he had never considered the man’s gender; it had been the furthest thing from his mind, especially when receiving a particularly impressive rant about correct care of MI6 equipment.

Bond had returned early; a mistake on the American end had culminated in a dead CIA agent and Bond being sent home. The briefing had been dull and the medical intrusive, but he had the all-clear, only equipment to return, then he was free to leave. Possibly even sleep, which was a rather nice rarity. His gun was in one piece (it didn’t  _quite_ work as well as it had done, but it was certainly an improvement on the norm). The surveillance gear had not survived.

Q was going to be pissed. 

The Quartermaster’s office was its own microcosm, mostly for security purposes. When needed, it could be shut off from the rest of MI6, on its own AC loop. The smell didn’t hit Bond until he entered. 

It took everything within the Alpha not to spring onto the young Omega, sat masturbating behind his desk.

He should leave. Q was on heat, at  _work_  of all places.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Q looked up, a look of wanton need looking far too perfect in his eyes.

“What – what are you doing here?” he managed, hand still pumping up and down his aching erection. Bond couldn’t take his eyes off it, the sight of the man, the smell. That perfect, beautiful smell that was wholly and completely  _Q._ A man he had underestimated, a man he had hated and adored, a man he respected. A man he would have loved to have gotten to know better.

 “Equipment,” Bond managed. “I’ll go, I’m sorry, will you be…?”

Q ground into the chair in a way that was positively obscene. Heat could be an incredibly painful experience, especially if an Omega had been suppressing it. Q would also be incredibly vulnerable; anyone could come in now, any alpha in the building, and claim him. The very idea sent a shiver of hatred, of jealousy through Bond.  

 “You, I…James,” he moaned, back aching. His body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

 “Q, don’t, don’t  _do_  that,” Bond growled, hard, so ready to take the beautiful creature before him. Take him to  _pieces_. “You can’t… I can’t. I should go. I should  _go_.”

 “My suppressants, someone took, I can’t find… You’re not bonded?” he managed, gasping as he spoke. Bond shook his head, not trusting his voice. “You won’t, if you… you swear you won’t bond with me?” Q asked, pleading now, so close.

 “I swear,” Bond told him, almost glued to the door.

 “Then get over here and fuck me!” Q begged, body shaking with need.

 Bond truly didn’t need asking twice. 


	591. Chapter 591

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a Christmas prompt. James is alone at Christmas in his flat having lied about having plans but Q knows better. They both have feelings for each other but too afraid to express them. Q shows up and they both start expressing it. Angst and NSFW would be Fab! if you want add some fluff.. Also if James and Q could have small surprise gifts for each other that would be awesome.. BTW..you guys rock! – anon

Bond reached for the whiskey, forgoing his glass and taking a swig directly from the bottle.

Eleven in the evening on Christmas Eve. He had only arrived back into the countty the previous day, his flat was devoid of decorations, of a tree, or indeed people. The radio was on making a valiant effort in the background, but Bond ignored it.

A buzz in-call from downstairs.

Probably pressed his button by mistake. Bond ignored it.

Another buzz.

After the fifth, he decided to get up and try to tell the bloody carol singers to piss off in colourful language, possibly with accompanying threats.

Looking in from the viewing screen was, of all people, his quartermaster.

It was a freezing night and he was so wrapped up Bond almost hadn’t recognised him; the glasses were the giveaway, currently steamed up from the hot breath getting caught in Q’s scarf.

"Open the door," he mouthed, lips a little blue, visibly shivering.

Bond rolled his eyes. Of course. Of bloody course.

There was no point in objecting, the man would probably simply break in if Bond refused. Thus five minutes later, Q was sat in Bond’s spare arm chair, gradually unwrapping his various layers as he thawed. No real fire, but central heating was doing a bang up job.

"I told you I was busy tonight," Bond commented, offering Q a glass of whiskey.

 ”And I knew you were lying,” Q replied, taking the glass and sniffing it.

"I might not have been," Bond pointed out, leaning back in his chair.

"But you were," Q reiterated, leaving the glass untouched.

Bond let out a small sigh, beginning to get truly irate. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be tonight?”

"My cats will do without me for the evening.”

"No family?"

"No."

“Just cats?”

“Yes.”

“And a merry Christmas to you.”

Q’s smile was small, and worryingly sad. “Yes. Merry Christmas,” he returned, glancing over Bond with gentle worry, eyes darting over him, voice steady but quiet as he asked: “Bond, why did you lie? Was it myself, or simply company in general?”

Naturally, Bond gave himself a moment to attempt a lie; he gave up relatively sharpish. “I didn’t expect you would want to come,” he said, after a moment. “Hardly wanted you to feel obligated, which appears to have happened regardless.”

Q rolled his eyes, reached into his messenger bag, and tossed over a small wrapped present. “Stop being a miserable bastard,” he chastised. “Come on. Christmas. I’ll cook. I can’t vouch for quality.”

“In which case I’ll cook,” Bond corrected, fingers closing around the present, watching Q’s smile creep across the corners of his mouth.


	592. Chapter 592

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love your writing, especially the Q Holmes fics. Have you ever watched the SyFy series Alphas? The character Gary has the unique ability to manipulate electromagnetic wavelengths in the air with his mind. I thought it would be awesome of you did a 00Q fic (perhaps Bondlock?) where Q has Gary’s abilities, which is why he is such a great Quartermaster. Thanks –Moe

Q let out a low humming sound under his breath, trying to drown out the endless, constant  _noise_. His skills had relatively few downsides, but  _god_ , the noise was one of them. Living in a technology bubble meant he spent most of his life desperately trying to make the sounds manageable.

The skill: hearing, sensing, manipulating technology. Tapping into waves, into wires, threading them in and under his skin to augment the effect, left with the echoing pressure of sounds and stray waves and the hum of computers and data, so much data, binary screaming in the back of his skull.

“Q?”

The Quartermaster’s eyes snapped upwards, catching Bond. “Yes?” he asked, a little more abrasively than he had originally intended.

“Returning equipment.”

No additional noise. No  _potential_  for additional noise. Bond had really gone to town; Q could usually hear the suggestion, even if the item was dormant, of anything that could transmit information.

“What did you do?” he asked wearily, extending an elegant hand, pale fingers spiked and reaching.

Bond smirked. “The Atlantic.”

Q let out a growling sigh. “Superb, my hard work has disappeared into an ocean. Is there any reason in particular that you felt it necessary?”

“Killing people. Not getting killed. Tada,” he returned, deadpan, as Q’s head whined; there was something happening outside, phones ringing, dampeners ceasing their efficacy under an onslaught of information.

Q stood and brushed past a somewhat bemused Bond to the central control room. “Status?” he snapped.

R was immediately at his side. “We’ve had a problem. Information leak, we’re trying to plug it but have no current source.”

“Wire me in.”

Q-branch, of course, all knew about Q. Some agents knew.

Until the moment that somebody slid a wire under Q’s skin, Bond didn’t know either. “The  _fuck_?!”

“It’s fine. He’s fine.”

Bond’s jaw dropped open, as Q’s lips fluttered, information darting across screens, Q’s fingers moving at inhuman speeds with eyes electrically wide, data spinning and moving and inputting, everywhere,  _everywhere_.


	593. Chapter 593

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love Q’s hair but I want to see everyone’s (Q branch, Tanner, Eve, M, and of course Bond) reaction when Q cut it short (like Ben’s hair during Skyfall London Premier) after an incident with chemicals in lab or something…. Extra points for 00Q fluff? :) Not sure when you will get to this prompt but Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and please make me another fantastic year with your amazing writings! <3 – anon

Tanner looked like he wanted to cry. “But your  _hair_ …”

“It’ll grow back,” Q told him gently, running a hand through it with unhappy experimentation. “It’s just an adjustment, that’s all. You’ll all get used to it, and the moment you do, it’ll be back to normal.”

M walked in, did a full-blown double take. “What happened?!” he asked, with tangible panic.

Q rolled his eyes. “You know, all this could make a man rather self-conscious,” he commented drily, retrieving dignity as best he could. “It’s a haircut. I had some issues with explosive chemicals, there was no other option.”

In the background, Bond wasn’t saying a word. He just kept staring at Q’s head. Since the moment he had seen his partner’s new style, he hadn’t quite managed to get a full sentence out, not a coherent one at any rate.

“Bond?”

Bond managed no words, didn’t even try; he loosely gestured at Q, shrugged a bit, gaped a bit, returned to blank staring.

“This is unbelievably unfair…”

“Your  _hair_ ,” Eve shrieked, as she walked into the room.

Q was visibly inches from snapping. “Yes, my hair. Look, I have no hair. Yes, all of my hair is completely gone and I  _clearly_  look like a complete idiot and I think I killed my boyfriend, and I hate absolutely every single one of you because I didn’t have an option and I’m not actually sure I dislike it.”

“I don’t dislike it,” Bond mumbled, with not quite as much conviction as one would hope for, but it was a valiant effort all the same.

“Cheers,” Q returned with acid, shaking his head. “I hate you all. Seriously, I hate you all.”

“Love the hair, Q, what brought that on?”

Everybody turned in absolute unison.

R stood the doorway. She gave a light wave, looking like she hadn’t slept in about a fortnight and could probably do with a day of sleep and a lot of chocolate. “What?” she asked, with genuine confusion.

“And this is why I hired you,” Q said with a delighted, honest sigh. “The rest of you, fuck off. James, try harder. Surely everybody has work to be getting on with?”

Everybody filed out; the moment the room was empty, Q twisted to R: “ _Thank you_ , my god. They were being…”

“I know,” R told him, with tired lightness. “I was waiting for the opportune moment. The hair’s terrible, but it gets tiring when everybody says it at the same time. I’m going home. Beware of explosives, esteemed leader.”

Q waved her away with a light sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and let out an echoing moan.


	594. Chapter 594

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff? Bond and Q playfully just wrestling about and Bond obviously overpowering Q easily. That would be cute. I love your writing so much thank you for taking the time to give us such lovely stories! – anon

There was something intrinsically  _fun_  about playing around with a trained killing machine. Possibly a little suicidal and lot masochistic, but wrestling Bond while being fully aware of the potential for imminent death was ridiculously enjoyable and rather arousing.

Q would try for a punch, and Bond could literally catch him mid-motion. Q rolled, was pre-empted, was pinned and never actually hurt. Not once. Bond could do that, could push towards potentially dangerous manoeuvres and somehow manage to barely _bruise_  his lover.

Despite every possible attempt, Q had yet to manage much of actual interest. The odd attempted whack, but really, nothing of much interest.

It became something of an ambition to at least make Bond  _wince_. Just at some stage, somehow. Even pinching the man didn’t work, he seemed to have dense enough muscles to not feel a bloody thing.

_Slam_.

Q looked up at his lover, grinned, kissed him with a strange neck-crane that just about managed to reach. “You got me,” he conceded.

“Don’t I always?”

Arrogance: the easiest, surest way to make Q go crazy. In a handful of moves, he slid out of Bond’s grip, tried to go for his throat, failed spectacularly.

_Whack_.

“Ow, by the way.”

“You’re lying,” Bond returned easily. “No way did that hurt. Come off it, Q, I’m used to you and I’m used to doing this…”

“I swear I hate you,” Q muttered, pouted. Let Bond kiss him and nuzzled into him slightly, stroking his foot along Bond’s thigh. “I’ll beat you one day…”

An attempted, entirely abortive, struggle to break free. It was just a little laughable, really.

Bond lifted him up to standing, actively swept the younger man off his feet, and dipped him backwards while kissing him with unbelievable intensity; the tension in Q’s body drained and dried out altogether, leaving him moulded to Bond’s form and sighing out his name softly into the older man’s mouth. “Love you,” he mumbled.

“Yes, Q,” Bond laughed, righting him, and pinning his wrists behind his back before he tried anything more. “I love you, too.”


	595. Chapter 595

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am an Angst lover. I would like one where Q dumps James over something silly, and takes up with a double O, who doesnt treat him too well but Q is too proud to ask for James to take him back but when he finally does Q isnt the same person he was before.. Probably done it already.. I love your guy’s writing. really inspiring! – anon

The breakup had been horrible. Impulsive and absurd, and probably sensible given that Q had been barely coherent and tangibly unhappy, and he wound up making a stupid decision because he was angry which Bond had dealt with  _monumentally_  badly, and thus drastically reduced the likelihood of their relationship recovering.

But, there was nothing to be done about it now. Q was with somebody else – feigning happiness if not actually feeling it – and Bond could simply watch from a distance, and see his once lover deteriorate.

There was quiet relief, when Q and 002 broke up. It was evidently just as messy a breakup as Q and Bond’s had been, but unlike previously, everybody near enough unanimously supported the decision. They were not good for each other. 002 had raw emotion living under his skin, Q had practically stopped speaking and clearly hadn’t been eating.

Apart, 002 calmed, and started to smile again.

Apart, Q had yet to work himself up to normal.

Bond had watched him from a distance, and wished he could take the man away from it all. Prayed that he could get through to his almost-lost lover and make it  _better_ somehow, kiss him a thousand times for every moment he had been sad, and work over the scabbed patches left behind.

Q didn’t ask. Bond didn’t dare intervene. It was Q’s life, he had made that painfully and horribly clear.

“James?”

Of course, Bond was listening in a heartbeat. Istanbul, but a relatively low-key assignment that he had little need to think about until the following morning; Q’s voice in his ear spelt trouble, especially when addressing him on first name terms. “Receiving, Q. What’s happened?”

“It’s not the mission.”

The tension in Bond’s body actually ramped up several notches. “Oh?”

“James, I miss you.”

Bond’s hope was impossible, and his body froze in stasis, waiting for the continuation. “I miss you too,” he broached, gently, warily. “Q… are you alright? You’ve been…”

“No,” Q interjected, before Bond could finish the sentence. “I’m not. But I will be. James, I… would you still want me? If I asked?”

Instantly: “Yes.”

Q let out a soft sigh, his intonation unreadable. “This is me asking,” he managed, an uncomfortable and uncharacteristically uncertain tone. “Please.”

There was an edge to Q’s voice that Bond didn’t like, a touch of sadness and worry and hurt that had been placed there, that had never existed before. “Q, of course,” Bond returned, with a small laugh. “In a heartbeat. Just hang on. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay,” Q murmured back, softer than air, and the silence lingered for a long time between them, waiting for something neither could name.


	596. Chapter 596

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just love bamfQ and 00Q. A foreign government has trained Q as a sleeper agent to infiltrate MI6, since he was a child. Q let’s himself get caught hacking and made to join. Bond seduces Q. Q is caught by a terrorist group. I’m not sure how it should end; just not sad. – anon

—-

There were many separate but distinct levels of irony about the entire situation, mostly revolving around the basic fact that Q had long since ceased to have any true allegiances to anywhere, anyone, or anything.  Honestly, he’d tell them pretty much anything.

Unfortunately, being an MI6 agent and loquacious meant they were certain he was lying, which meant they tortured him anyway, and wasn’t that just  _perfect_.

“I’m telling you the  _bloody_  truth,” he yelled.

“Good to know.”

Q’s entire world went on hold for several long, excruciating moments. The stillness was incredible, pervasive, and Q could barely breathe as he tried to make the different strands cohere and failed because  _please god no James_  he was not actually here.

Shots, people falling and screaming and dying. It was very difficult to track; Q’s mouth was filled with blood, stuck wetly in dashes across his chest, exhaustedly ragged breaths torn from him with more effort than was honestly fair. “Q?”

Bond would never forgive him.

God, Q wanted to forget. He wanted to make his mind loyal to anything, something – Queen and Country, his once-forgotten home – but he had been stripped of everything and left with the simple loyalty to only one or two things:

Himself, and the things he loved.

Q did not love England. He cared, certainly, but not enough. He loved his job. He loved his work. He loved James Bond. He loved the people he worked with. He loved  _people._ He loved being able to walk. He loved breathing. He loved living.

Bond lived and loved and existed for England. Q respected him tremendously. He disagreed entirely.

“You were giving away information?”

There was absolutely no point in lying. “I’m sorry,” Q mumbled. “Nothing… nothing that would have hurt anybody, but I couldn’t, I’m sorry James, I…”

Bond reached around, a sharp flick-knife in hand; Q let out a breath, trembling as he waited for the expected sharpness, a heat and pain, and the sliding life out of his grip into Bond’s waiting hands.

Being freed from his bonds was definitely a surprise.

Q didn’t move for a moment. Realised a moment later he couldn’t, either way. “Q. I was given a document, when you disappeared, which had some information concerned a small circle of terrorists nicknaming themselves Python.”

Again, a closing-in, and Q couldn’t quite believe he was still alive. Bond would  _hate_ him. Everything they had formed, everything Q had found in a man like James Bond – who had wanted  _him first_ , who had taken him apart and loved him quite completely – would be gone in a heartbeat.

“James, please know – I broke apart from them a while ago. My affiliations were intact, and supposedly I can be called upon at any moment, but I know where my loyalties are and I… it’s not to England, or to MI6, but I wouldn’t hurt anybody. You know that. I…”

Bond raised a hand, and Q fell entirely silent.

“The document has been destroyed, and I will un-hear anything you have said,” Bond told him simply. “Q, I trust you, and I’m going to continue to trust you. I will say this only once: if you give me a reason, a true reason, not to trust you? I will kill you. Personally, and without hesitation.”

Q nodded, a little uncoordinatedly. “’kay’. James…”

“Med team incoming,” he stated gently, and kissed Q very softly on the forehead. “It’s alright.”


	597. Chapter 597

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Could I please, please have a fic about Bond meeting Q, who is a danseur (or male ballet dancer), on a mission. He attempts to seduce his female partner, who is in a relationship with someone important (I really don’t care, just throwing out ideas), but winds up falling for the surprisingly brilliant Q instead. If Q could somehow save his arse, that would be lovely. An emphasis on the brilliance of Q would also be marvelous. – anon

Heloise was a beautiful dancer, of course she was. Eloquent in every motion, her body a study in perfection as she moved from one area to another, into the arms of her Romeo before spinning herself away and offstage.

Curious, then, that Bond found himself drawn far more to Mercutio.

There was just something about him. Bond had always been excited by the expression of the danseurs in ballet; he had needed ballet when younger, to hone his physical skills and balance, appreciated the art form quite completely before returning to his life as an agent. Danseurs were quite exceptional creatures.

Q was more than just exceptional. He was incandescent; Bond could watch him indefinitely, all fire and passion and laughter. His body laughed, and he could hear Queen Mab as Q’s body arched and fired, electric excitement and the horror, the acute and indescribable hurt as a dagger rent his body open, his death the vulnerable and sobbing anger of a child gone too early.

Romeo was perfectly good, yes, but he was  _nothing_  held against Q.

But, Bond’s job was to seduce Heloise, so he could infiltrate better; as her partner, he would potentially be privy to more information, more options, and it had occurred that it meant he could possible flirt with Q too, but to assume Q was gay would be a little unfair.

It was getting difficult to flirt properly. His eyes refused to stop tracing Q instead.

Eventually, Q noticed; he moved closer, his feet in a habitual turnout that his muscles refused to relax on. “Dinner?” he asked, with gentle eloquence – his voice was as beautiful as his body, it transpired – and Bond agreed on the spot.

His mission brief became a little more elastic. M was not precisely delighted, but Bond didn’t care particularly. “You are aware that he knows as much, if not more, than Heloise?” he asked rhetorically.

“Through accident rather than design; you need to concentrate on the mission, not your cock,” M told him, without mercy.

Bond conceded defeat, nodded, and sheepishly returned to his exceptionally successful seduction of the gorgeous dancer that was Q; he was there in the role of an associate producer, technically, given that he was an agent rather than somebody involved in the dance world, and the choreographer was entirely in on the story and prepared to allow him leeway.

Provided he didn’t sleep with the prime danseur.

The mission was looking at the distribution, access and potentially extremely widespread use of various drugs; it was a known fact that some had been used and were being circulated around the company, and finding any links to dealers would be rather useful at this stage.

It became evident fairly quickly that Q used. Most of them did, and were very unapologetic about it. “So,” Bond purred, leaning in to Q’s form. “Can I get some myself?”

Q smiled slightly, amused. “ _That’s_  what you’re here for. I did wonder.”

“What?”

“James, this is hardly your scene. I mean, you’re damn good, but I’ve wondered for a little while what you’re actually doing here – producers don’t tend to stick around – so this makes more sense. Sorry, I can’t tell you a thing, not worth it.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, letting Q slide out of bed to start his stretches.

Time for Plan B.


	598. Chapter 598

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Your last gender swap was awesome, could you perhaps do a female Q and a male Bond, and Q persistently turning Bond down because she knows all about Bond’s reputation and she’s not going to be treated like that because she’s a branch head and technically Bond is lower ranking than her. – anon

Honestly, Q couldn’t quite believe the gall of the man.

Flirting was an occupational hazard. Q knew she was fairly attractive, tended to get some decent male attention from time to time, and being a woman in a very high-powered job also tended to dramatically increase the amount of flirting.

Bond’s current behaviour, however, was entirely beyond the pale. The man had clearly not been told ‘no’ enough times in his life to truly understand the meaning of the bloody word, thought himself god’s gift to female-kind, and wouldn’t bloody well leave her alone.

“Bond, I have had enough,” she said, turning, finally reaching her snapping point. “I am your superior officer, as well as your Quartermaster. I am flattered, I suppose, in a sense; you have deemed me worthy of some truly terrifyingly dogged pursuit, but I will tell you now, for the last time: stop insulting me. Stop flirting atrociously badly, making inappropriate jokes.”

The true irony was that they could have wound up with a really nice, very functional type of relationship. They shared a sense of humour – desert dry, on a good day – and had a similar type of vaguely insulting and playful manner of talking. It had seemed so  _promising_.

Q couldn’t help but wonder whether it would have been different, if Bond hadn’t been so immediately keen to bracket her into the realms of ‘women he had/could/wanted to shag’, and had instead treated her like a human being. Like a colleague. Had let their relationship progress properly.

Instead, he was now looking at her with something akin to confusion and mild distrust; an expression that made Q honestly want to hit him.

“I thought…”

“How more explicit would you have liked me to be?” Q asked rhetorically. “Don’t even try it, I’m not buying it. Consider this a final warning.”

In some regards, Q mused, there was something unpleasantly satisfying about finally smacking down a man who had deserved it for a while. It wasn’t the nicest thing to think, no, but Bond’s expression – confusion and mild hurt and disbelief – was actually rather worth it.

Of course, Bond being Bond, he then did the one thing he was best at in the world:

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a ring of utter honesty. “If you can, don’t read into this any lack of respect. Truly, I apologise. You deserve better.”

The bastard was really,  _really_  good at making people like him.

Q just nodded at him; her pride was enough to prevent her from doing anything further. “You’re dismissed, Bond. I will be speaking to you later.”

Bond inclined his head, expression still perfectly repentant, and left.


	599. Chapter 599

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you do more femslash 00q please? – anon

“I hate everything,” Q muttered darkly, reaching out for her mug.

Empty. Bloody hellfire. Sod’s law in motion. “ _R!_ ” she bellowed.

R was there in an instant, already holding a fresh cup in his glorious hands. “Marry me,” Q told him with pathetic gratitude, taking the cup with one hand before returning her attention to the screen.

“Heard that!” Bond commented over her head piece.

Q rolled her eyes, smirking slightly. “Bring me more tea and stop getting shot at then,” she told her partner, watching as Bond narrowly missed a bullet to the thigh.

“Will do,” Bond replied, returning fire with impressive accuracy; she had been practicing, apparently. Probably after being bested by Adam Moneypenny, her greatest shooting rival, in their last match. “Did you book the viewing by the way? The renovated barn one?”

Q shook her head slightly, pushing glasses up with an elegant finger. “Oddly Jamie, I’ve been slightly more concerned with keeping you alive,” she countered, keying in coordinates as Bond took out another handful of targets. “Also, they are all booked up through June.”

“What about shifting the date to July?” Bond asked, moving out of her location in a zigzag motion. Q watched as she reached into her pockets, summoning the car with a press of a button.

From there, Q took command, cameras within the vehicle allowing her to drive it to her fiancé’s location.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get my sister to agree to one day off?” Q asked, swerving the car through a side street, one eye on Bond’s fast moving form; tongue trapped between teeth, she rolled her eyes at Bond’s response:

“She can cope, it’s our wedding!”

Impeccable timing; she jumped as she spoke, sliding over the top of the car and through the sunroof to land with almost impossible grace in the driver’s seat. Q schooled her expression to remain neutral – “I’m glad I know you well enough to have opened the damn thing” – and continued as before.

Bond driving, Q relinquished control of the car. “Anthony will kill me, it would ruin her schedule. We will just have to find something else. And next left, by the way.”

A moment of silence. “Got it,” Bond replied lightly, yanking the car into gear and whirling out of the alley.

R watched in mute silence, fearing that interrupting the pair might lead to his invitation being revoked. He simply headed for the secondary command desk, as Q brought up the tentative subject of what on earth she was going to do about the seating arrangements, and Bond near enough crashed when it was suggested that Q’s siblings have seats on the main table.


	600. Chapter 600

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q giving Bond the silent treatment for whatever reason and for quite a while. Fluff and preferably not a large amount of angst please. Thank you – anon

Nine days.

Bond was getting a little bit hysterical, Q was completely firm, and Q-branch were exceptionally wary as they witnessed an otherwise perfectly functional couple regress to petulant children.

Q just refused to speak to Bond, at all, under any circumstances. Occasionally, messages were sent via R, but for the most part, absolute silence. They  _lived together_ , and nobody could understand how Q had the simple willpower to continue for so long without going categorically insane.

Bond had gone through begging, pleading, blackmailing – a very bad idea – cursing, sobbing, back to begging. Absolutely no avail; Q just continued his work, and mostly didn’t acknowledge that Bond was even vaguely present.

“ _Please_.”

Q did nothing.

Everybody wanted to get out of him just what Bond had done, and/or how he could make it up; Q was saying absolutely nothing on that subject, merely told the minions “don’t worry, it’s under control,” and life continued to trickle on near enough as usual.

“ _It’ll never happen again_.”

Q raised an eyebrow. It was very evident that it happening again would probably inspire far more than long-term silent treatment. He sniffed slightly as he turned away – melodramatic in the extreme – and returned to his work.

Bond stayed there. He sank to his knees, remained at Q’s side mumbling apologies and causing the minions to  _all_  take mass amounts of footage of the double-oh agent so cowed, and waited.

Abruptly, Q’s hand trailed down, resting in Bond’s hair. He looked up, with unbelievable hope.

“I still love you.”

Bond looked like he could have passed out on the spot. “Q…”

“Shh,” he said gently, leaning in to press a kiss to Bond’s lips. “I forgive you. Just, please, learn from this?”

“Yes,” Bond replied instantly, almost tripping over words, kissing Q back with absolute desperation. “Please don’t  _ever_  do that to me again, please Q, I…”

The minions watched the lovers reunite with beatific expressions; it was heart-warming, in a slightly bizarre way, and Q just kissed Bond senseless.

When Bond finally left, somebody had the nerve to ask Q just what Bond had ever done to have deserved it in the first place.

Q glanced at them, almost confused by the question. “He made coffee,” he replied simply, and returned to work, leaving the minions gaping en masse.


	601. Chapter 601

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo!!! I’m a big fan of you guys and I have a prompt to submit. My friend gave me the idea and I reaaaaaally want it ficed. Bond walks in on all of Q branch singing “Work it out” from High School Musical 2. The floor is yours my dears! ~Zoe – danger-duchess

_How did we get from the top of the world…_

Bond’s jaw was on the floor.

There were no words for what he was currently witnessing.

Q-branch was like walking into a professional dance studio, only with more expensive hardware and far less lycra. There was even choreography, for god’s sake.

Bond ducked, as Ryan sent a small metallic something in his direction; twisting, Bond watched it be snagged out of the air by a person behind him.

  _We’ve got to work, work, work this ouuuuut…_

 Only in Q-branch. Bond was only there to bring back what remained of his equipment, and possibly flirt with his partner.  _Not_  to nearly get decapitated by flying metal objects while everybody sang in a partially improvised three-part harmony (an impressive feat, considering that the original score didn’t actually call for it).

Everybody was dancing. Solo, in duets, with one another in a strange skipping type of way that made Bond feel mildly unwell, R displaying flexibility that he had not otherwise have credited her with and Ryan doing something ungodly with his hips.

Q-branch was a fucking weird place.

“What the hell is going on?” he tried helplessly, but was drowned out almost instantly by another chorus.

Desperately, Bond made for the Quartermaster’s office, battling his way past people _spinning_  while holding tea – lethal, Bond concluded, and idiotic to boot – and two minions making out in the corner while nobody was paying attention, and wound up to find Q standing on his desk, conducting the entire affair.

There was absolutely nothing to be done.

For the next minute or two, Bond just stood, transfixed with amazement and mild panic, as some of the countries brightest minds made mincemeat of a Disney song.

Finally they fell silent, chests heaving and smiles fixed.

Bond didn’t know whether to applaud or have them committed.

Instead, he turned to Q, mouth opening and closing silently.

 “Can I help ,007?” Q asked conversationally.

Bond turned, to see every single person back at their respective desks, behaving as though nothing at all had occurred. Nothing. The mugs of steaming tea in their places, the minions no longer singing or snogging, typing with merry rhythm.

“I…”

In the end, Bond simply settled for placing his equipment down, pecking Q quickly on the cheek, and heading for the exit as fast as possible.


	602. Chapter 602

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First of all, thank you for your fantastic fics ♥ May I suggest you a prompt? Bond has finally come to the right age (let’s say 45/48) and he is pulled off field work. However, instead of retiring/getting behind a desk like Moneypenny, he becomes an instructor for young agents. I’d love to see him coming back home to Q and talking with him about his new role… It would be perfect if you managed to throw a bit of fluff/cuddles/sexy times in the middle ;) Thank you ♥ - lazynbored

“… and I doubt the kid will ever be able to shoot in a bloody straight line, although if anybody gets within ten feet of her she’ll floor them… never seen anybody so good with hand-to-hand. I can’t get her onto missions until she’s more competent with a gun, though…”

Q listened with vague amusement, trying to deal with his own workload while Bond talked through his own day with tangible enthusiasm that he would deny until his dying day; Bond loved his job, loved working with young soon-to-be agents and informing the world that they were all incompetent while instilling fragments of knowledge that would serve them beautifully throughout their careers.

Q knew he would never be able to do it, if it were him. He hated working with the younger ones on principle: most of them would die, fairly quickly, and never make it much farther than active status. One or two may survive to be higher agents, and maybe one would be a new double-oh.

Agents died too easily. Watching barely-teenagers be trained into MI6 perfection was something Q found a little too troubling.

Bond, on the other hand, loved it. The kids he was working with loved it, too; they had made their decisions, and relished the moments they spent on shooting ranges and learning to survive where nothing else in their lives had. Orphans and runaways and painfully lonely children learning, together, to protect the single thing they all had in common: for Queen and Country.

Bond enthused in emphatic terms, slumping onto the sofa next to his lover. “Sorry,” he muttered, and kissed Q lightly; a little surprised, Q glanced up at him, a slight hint of colour pinking his cheeks. “I get excited. They’re going to be brilliant.”

“Obviously. You’re teaching them. You’ll kill any who  _aren’t_  brilliant,” Q pointed out, with a shadow of a smirk.

Bond mocked annoyance, but grinned all the same. “You’ll meet a couple of them soon, Alice should be about ready for her first active mission…”

“James,” Q said, in a gentle tone. “I am working. Later, love. I’m sure you can tell me all about her soon, and I’ll be mildly jealous, but  _first_  I need to okay a handful of blueprints and safe the Western world.”

“Sounds like fun. 001?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Not dead. Back in the UK soon, actually, it’s on my to-do list to get her a flight.”

Bond was tangibly relieved; he had never worked with 001, but like all double-ohs, they had met and shared a certain professional regard for one another. It was something of a truism that only other double-ohs would ever fully understand just what it was to get those forms of mission, to survive them.

Q thanked several gods on an almost daily basis that Bond was no longer one of them. Bond would grow old, Bond would live and love and eventually die, but Q no longer had to watch him ever second with the perpetual terror that it would be the last time.

“Tea?”

“Always,” Q returned with a grin, still staring at his screen, hearing Bond’s familiar footsteps and wondering just how he had been so lucky.


	603. Chapter 603

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey dears! I hope you’re alright, I always hope that <3 Oh please may I prompt some fluff please? Q doesn’t know when his birthday is, he never knew and he couldn’t ever find out. Bond being Bond and having his own ways, he did find out and surprises Q with it and Q is overhwhelmed with relief. Just the two of the and cuddles and kisses and feeling home and happiness? Please please? Would be great, thank you for considering!! Hugs and hearts, tracionn.

The flat was riddled with streamers, colours, shiny things.

“Erm…” Q managed, stepping in with tangible alarm. “This is certainly new. Do I want to know?”

Bond strolled out of the kitchen, hands in his pockets, jacket slung over the back of the sofa and shirtsleeves rolled up – he looked like something of a god – and Q let out a slow breath, smiling. “I…”

“Birth certificates are a nightmare to scan through,” Bond told him conversationally. “Trying to trace one child, with fairly little to go on, is particularly interesting.  _But_ , not impossible; look hard enough, and you can find the traces. It’s my job, after all.”

Q crooked an eyebrow in general amusement. “Yes, I’m aware. Excellent speech. And?”

“And I was looking for a boy, born just outside London to wealthy family, illegitimate and stifled, birth certificates buried what, thirty-one years ago?”

In an instant, Q’s face had gone wholly white. “You didn’t?” he breathed, in utter disbelief, glancing around at the streamers and the celebrations and the  _Happy Birthday_  sign balanced over the far wall. “You…”

“Turns out you can always find these things. 14th May. Happy birthday, Q.”

Q didn’t know whether to cry, pass out, or  _what_  to do with himself. “You found my birthday?” he repeated again, voice a lot smaller, a lot more fragile. “I don’t know what to…”

“Thirty-one today,” Bond told him gently, pulling out a small, wrapped gift.

Final straw: Q began to cry, caught in utter disbelief.

“ _Fuck_ , James, I mean…  _thank you_ ,” he managed, half-choking on words. “You… this must have taken forever, I couldn’t find them myself, and…”

Bond pulled out the certificate, just for confirmation, and placed it to one side before wrapping Q in a bonebreaking hug. “I love you,” he murmured into the shell of Q’s ear, gently, lovingly.

Q couldn’t speak, just held onto Bond for dear life.


	604. Chapter 604

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you please write a songfic for the song Truce by Twenty-One Pilots? thank you – anon

Bond was bleeding out.

Q knew enough to tell that. He knew he enough see blood and know blood and know injury, to have studied for so much of his life, seen agents and been told the prognosis and watch agents quite unlike Bond die by increments, and  _fuck_  he hated field work because this was it, seeing a man dying.

Seeing a man he loved dying.

“Bond?”

“Hello, quartermaster,” he mumbled, eyes a little unfocused. “How are things?”

“Could be better,” Q returned easily, pressing a hand to Bond’s wound and realising it was extensive, that the flesh had ripped and it could not be fixed. Q couldn’t fix it. “James…”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Fuck, it is bad. First name terms.”

Q restrained the urge to panic, to cry, to hate, to scream; instead, he awkwardly leaned in, kissed the top of Bond’s head gently. There was movement behind him, he could tell, and he would never be able to move fast enough.

Not all of the blood was Bond’s. Q was nursing a gunshot to the calf. He had barely made it to Bond’s side in the first place.

“I’ll be with you throughout,” Q mumbled at him, Bond’s heartbeat slowing under his hands. “I’m staying with you, James.”

“… don’t want to die,” he conceded, voice not quite holding the flippancy the agent was hoping for; Q let his breath catch without subtlety and squeezed Bond’s fingers, his lover so pale. “Sorry.”

Q shoot his head, pushing hair out of Bond’s face with blood-covered fingers. “Don’t be,” he said firmly. “I promise, James, it’ll be alright. I’ll be here when you wake up. You’ve had a hell of a life, now we can go haunt the underworld like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t lose yourself, James, this isn’t you.”

The idea of Bond – Q’s Bond – dying before his body did was too much; Bond would die as he lived, brave and cocky, the person he was would always survive because it had. It was James Bond, and it wasn’t  _right_  for him to be lost like anybody else.

Bond’s expression lifted towards a small smile. “I’ll wait for you,” he returned, almost inaudibly, a swallowed sentence that died as he did, expression relaxing into something utterly neutral, a shell of somebody Bond had once been.

“Love you,” Q murmured, his proud and beautiful and brilliant partner, his double-oh seven, a favourite agent and a brilliant one, dying with a poise that seemed frankly unfair; Q wasn’t going to manage the poise, it would be far uglier, but he would find Bond in a world elsewhere and they would be safe.

Q was immensely glad Bond hadn’t known Q was going to. He would have been livid.

The trees behind him parted, and Q let out a breath; his lungs hadn’t emptied before he died.

-

Warmth.

“Hello, quartermaster.”


	605. Chapter 605

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do something where Q has to go on a mission which is outside James’ capabilities, but he might need to seduce a male target. As he has no experience, M decides James has to teach him how to go about it - and then is possibly in his ear when it does happen (getting jealous?) Thanks a lot. – tessismad

“ _Q, have you ever seduced a human being in your life?_ ” Bond asked conversationally; if he had been there in person, Q would have probably punched him.

As it was, he settled for griping, under his breath: “Well, I managed it with you.”

R snorted, audible on the comms system, and was promptly a lot quieter; Q guessed there was probably a glare or even mild physical assault that helped.

“ _Q. Get a drink, preferably a cocktail. He’s not subtle, and likes an easy lay: play on the stereotypes and it makes life quicker and easier._ ”

It was just too tempting: “Pink martini,” he smiled at the bartender, with an expression that left the man looking sideswiped and a little confused.

Bond let out a slight sigh. “ _I probably earned that_ ,” he mused, snorting as he watched the drink appear on the CCTV. “ _Looks like it worked, though. Nice hair, by the way._ ”

Q smiled to himself, and took a sip; the thing was catatonically sweet, surprisingly nice, and based on the man sidling on the barstool next to him, he had made a decent call. “You’re gorgeous,” the man stated simply.

With perfectly tempered surprised, Q twisted to him. “I try,” he said lightly, avoiding sounding rather sharp by only a fraction.

_“Seduce him, don’t scare him off. Smile. Let him take a good look at you. Eye contact.”_

Q did all of the above, green eyes caught in the stranger’s brown ones, only a little bit frightened; he had no idea how this would work, this was new, but nobody else would be able to work with the frankly gorgeous computer system that was waiting for him upstairs. “What brings a boy like you to a place like this?”

“The drinks,” Q returned immediately, with a little laugh and a hasty shy sip, and the man was visibly interested; always good. A man with specific tastes that Q mercifully could cater for – big eyes, young face, skinny – and even had a brain; it was just about simple enough, to gently unravel a human being and end with them entirely at Q’s mercy.

Bond seemed fairly impressed. “ _Physical contact. Brush knees. Not too daring, keep the shy thing going_.”

Shyness; Bond was never going to let him live this down.

Q leaned in slightly, his hand brushing the edges of the stranger’s – he introduced himself as Mike, Q as Jack, and both accepted the pseudonyms with a clear enough smile – and Q could feel rather than hear Bond’s jealousy.

This was going to be  _fun_.

Exchanged smalltalk later, Mike’s hand swallowed Q’s entirely. Q’s body had bent inwards, only subtle, but a shift that made his interests visibly on Mike and nobody else, the world could else implode. “Want to continue this delightful conversation elsewhere?” Mike asked, perfectly unsubtle.

Q smiled, again shyly – Bond snorted, almost inaudibly – and nodded.

Mike stood, led Q away; he stumbled a little, acting just a dash more drunk than he actually was, as he heard Bond in his ear:

“ _I’m going to fuck you into oblivion for this, Q. You have been warned_.”

“Promises, promises,” Q barely breathed in response, before sliding the earpiece out of his ear and into a pocket, ready to engage in the next stage of the mission without Bond being a goddamn voyeur.


	606. Chapter 606

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Can you write a fic where everything’s the same thing but Q acts really badass and cool when he’s really a total wuss about everything. Thanks! – anon

Q had a perfect demeanour, of course he did; he was a professional, the head of a major branch of MI6, and he was not going to panic or visibly seem perturbed when he had agents who depended on him.

“Let’s try and clear the fall by more than a centimetre next time, shall we?” he commented drily, as 007 jumped and came perilously close to falling; Q couldn’t breathe for a moment, feeling genuinely unwell as he nearly lost Bond altogether.

Bond had an amazing ability to nearly-die but not quite, and it terrified Q beyond all measure. “Thank you, Q, I noticed,” he grunted slightly, and scrambled back to his feet, gunshots all around him.

Q could never be an active agent, ever.

“ _Bond would you kindly pay attention to the people shooting you!_ ”

To Q’s utter disbelief, Bond just didn’t seem concerned. He moved in erratic orders, not quite a regular zigzag but down and up and all over the place, unpredictable to shoot, and he was doing  _beautifully_. “Do you actually have your gun?!”

“ _Shut up, Q_.”

Q did as he was told, and found that he was biting his nails down to the nailbed; he had almost no nail left after the last excursion with 002, and this was just making matters infinitely worse. “I hate you,” he mumbled.

R handed him a tea. “Thank god,” he said on exhale, and started downing the stuff: caffeine would help, caffeine would make his thoughts slow a little as he watched Bond flirt with the edges of death with more efficiency than his seductions of women. “Bond, _left_ , I have an extraction team.”

“Tell them to fuck off.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Let’s see who gets there first,” Bond retorted through panting, skidding around a corner; Q lost him on CCTV.

A moment of disbelief, of panic, and Q was typing faster than he knew his fingers could move. “Bond,  _Bond_ , I’ve lost you, I can’t get you up, are you…”

The sound of gunshots.

Q was going to throw up, he was pretty damn certain of that.

His blood pressure was going to be irretrievable.

“I hate you.”

Silence.

Utter, terrifying silence.

“Yep, Q. I hate you too. I found the extraction team, they send love.”

Q slumped with relief. “Tell them they are banned from using painkillers on you,” he returned, primly, almost with control. “And if your gun is not here when you are, you won’t be leaving Q-branch.”

With that, Q disconnected the comms, and near enough passed out on the spot, head spinning.


	607. Chapter 607

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so, uhm, based on a funny car advertisement. James and/or Alec use Q’s technology against him whenever he’s stroppy. They send him funny text that he just prompts his computer to read out to him, add music to his playlists whenever he isn’t looking and generally use the tech to get back into Q’s good grace – entangledwood

“Of course,” Q snapped, “irritating me is the  _perfect_  way to make my life better, to improve your life, just a  _stellar_  idea, can’t fucking fault it, and for the  _fucking_  record I _hate_  Wham with a ferocious burning passion.”

He was lying on all fronts. Bond knew that. Q knew that. Alec knew that.

It wasn’t stopping Q’s computer belting out  _Club Tropicana_  at ridiculous volumes. It was Q’s happy song, and everybody knew that; like alcohol, or waterboarding, eventually it has something of an effect on the psyche.

In this case, Q would start to sing along at some stage. Possibly dance a bit. Eventually.

For now, he was screaming, cursing, throwing things. He would get over it in the end. Bond was almost entirely certain of that.

He certainly  _hoped_.

“ _Why in the name of all things unholy can’t I access facebook?!_ ”

That particular aspect of sadism was designed to make Q’s brain fire up; set the man a challenge – like locking down facebook – and he could be gone for a fairly long while trying to get around and back into the site.

Alec was giggling. “This isn’t funny, this is important,” Bond told him firmly, which naturally only served to make the man snort louder. “ _Otherwise_  you’ll have another paperwork incident on your hands.”

Alec sobered up.

Last time Q had been in a shit mood, everybody had been made to do  _all_  their paperwork backlogs, in one go.

Mercifully, there was fairly little chance of Q snapping. They had reached him in time. “ _James_.”

“He’s going to kill you,” Alec pointed out conversationally, earning a sharp finger from Bond. “ _Oh_ , the car radio’s rigged now too.”

_Club Tropicana drinks are free…_

Bond shook his head slightly, almost disbelieving. “I don’t know how he hasn’t just bombed the place,” he said honestly, and reluctantly moved to standing. “Once more unto the breach, as they say.”

Alec gave him thumbs up, a frankly deranged smile, and sat back to watch the show.


	608. Chapter 608

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is (very, very) ill. James has to hold his hair away from his face while he’s sick, cuddle up with him and make him sleep, and generally take care of him like a good overprotective boyfriend. (I seem to have a need to put characters through all my pain 3:)) – anon

Q retched repeatedly; he was past the point of getting anything out other than bile, and he whimpered under his breath as his body convulsed, and acidic bile stung his mouth, and he was also still bloody shivering.

The warmth of Bond’s arms was almost too much, scalding him, and Q couldn’t find the words to express that thought. “ _James_ ,” he mumbled instead, feeling rather pathetic. “Hurts.”

“What hurts?” Bond asked, voice low and soothing.

Q couldn’t find words to answer, so settled for a generalised keen; Bond hushed him gently again, kissing the top of his head, dabbing away the bile from the corners of his mouth and guiding a straw to his lips. “Can’t.”

“Can,” Bond contradicted lightly. “You need to keep hydrated, love. Sleep soon, too.”

“ _Can’t_.”

Bond smiled slightly. “Can,” he stated again, and watched as Q essentially did as he was told. “Small sips, there we go. If you get this whole glass down, we can have a talk about some black tea.”

Q’s eyes widened very slightly. “Feel  _horrible_ ,” he mumbled.

“I gathered,” Bond murmured back, helping Q sit back, torso supported on cushions in the hope that the damn sugared water would stay down. “This is the worst, it’ll keep getting better from here. Promise.”

With no coordination whatsoever, Q nodded. “Sorry,” he said, very tearfully indeed. “M’sorry…”

Bond rolled his eyes fondly, and kept the sheet tucked up around Q’s body, stroking along his temples softly. “Nothing to be sorry for. We just need you better, okay? You’re doing amazingly, love.”

Q let out a low whining noise again, half-crying, Bond wiping away the tears and continuing with as much soothing as he could. “I’ve got you,” Bond murmured, pushing hair out of Q’s eyes. “I’ve got you. Sleep, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

Honestly, Q couldn’t have argued if he tried; he just held onto Bond with thin fingers, and let his body exhaustedly tip into sleep.


	609. Chapter 609

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I please have a prompt where due to PTSD Bond sometimes lapses into silence for no reason, and Q has to learn how to deal with it? – madwriterscorner

The first time it happened, Q had honestly no idea what in the hell to do with it, with himself, or anything else really; it scared him senseless. Bond was never somebody who had visible cracks, not in the slightest, and it was definitely new to abruptly be faced with everything James Bond didn’t show.

“James?” Q had asked, very tentatively.

Bond said nothing. He didn’t really respond in the slightest; he remained almost catatonic, and Q wasn’t sure what to do in case he triggered a full-scale panic attack by touching or saying something unexpectedly.

This was definitely not good.

“ _James_.”

Trauma responses. Catatonia. Q could work out what he would need to do afterwards, but had no idea what to do now: he moved closer, and gently placed a hand on Bond’s knee.

And was promptly punched for his troubles.

“Ow,” Q mumbled, as Bond came back to himself, eyes widening almost comically. “Fuck. Okay, I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t sure what do…”

Bond was tangibly horrified with himself, with the situation. “Q, I didn’t mean to…” he managed, trailing off,  scooping his lover up to examine the lip that was beginning to swell slightly. “ _Fuck_. I just, sometimes I tune out, when I’m…”

“When you’re..?” Q asked, as Bond trailed into silence again.

Bond glanced up at him, gave a slightly sad smile. “When I’m safe,” he said quietly, making Q’s heart do something bizarre in his chest. Bond didn’t wait for an answer: “I don’t think there’s much you can do about it. I’ll… usually I start responding after a bit, but I’ve been silent for days in the past. Alec used to be very good about it… just handed over a coffee or something and waited for words to happen again.”

Q nodded, squeezing Bond’s hand gently at the mention of his once-friend; Alec had left scars running in jagged lines across Bond’s already fragile mind, and it somehow didn’t surprise him that the man was being mentioned now. “And to avoid being punched?”

Bond immediately tensed slightly. Q’s tone was playful, but that didn’t stop the fact that Bond had  _hurt_  his lover. “Q…”

“It’s fine, but is there anything else like the no-touching thing I should know about?” Q asked gently. “Also… assuming I don’t accidently do something like that, how long can it last?”

For a moment, Bond’s eyes bored into him, blue and electric and deeply apologetic. “The longest was about three days,” he confessed quietly, Q’s eyes widening a little. “I’m so sorry, Q. I didn’t really know if it would… sorry. I should have warned earlier.”

Q gave himself a second to compute.

Then, he simply leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Bond’s lips. “It’s all fine,” he said honestly, smirking a little at Bond’s expression. “We’ll deal with it.”


	610. Chapter 610

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I am absolutely awed at the sheer quantity and quality of your works. Really; kudos! As for a prompt, I just had a horrible exam and I most likely completely butchered it and could use some cheering up. Would you be willing to write some fluffy 00Q in which Q is completely stressed out and Bond makes him a hot bath or something and gives him a massage? – ayantiel

Q was shaking.

It had been a very long three days. Q had managed a total of two hours’ sleep, uncountable litres of tea and a sandwich. The latter had been provided by Bond, and Q had barely noticed it being handed over, had absolutely no recollection of eating it. But 001 was alive, just. The med team had just got to her, Q’s job finally complete. He couldn’t begin to complain as Bond manoeuvred him out of the branch and into the car.

He managed to nap on the way back, but adrenaline was still pumping; by the time they got to the door, he was fidgeting. Fretting.

"I need to call, what if they can’t find…" Q was rattling off, until Bond wrapped arms around him from behind, holding him tightly and entirely stalling any attempts at work.

"They will cope Q," he murmured into Q’s hair.

Q fell silent, nodding eventually. “I’m just… concerned,” he admitted frustratedly as Bond guided him to the sofa.

"Naturally," Bond replied, kissing him on the head, straightening. “Just one moment.”

“Where are you…?”

"Bath, you need one," Bond told him. Q raised his eye brows, turning towards his underarm and sniffing. He had a point.

"Will you be joining me?"

Bond grinned, almost unable to believe his partner given that he barely had the energy to stand up on his own. “Maybe…” he teased benevolently, moving to the bathroom and turning on the taps. Q had few requirements in a flat, but a decent size bath was a must. It had made his partner laugh the first time he saw it, it was almost like a small hot tub, square and in the corner and large enough to fit the pair of them with relative ease.

When he came back, Q looked up sharply over his laptop.

"I was just…" Q began.

Bond raised an eyebrow.

A moment later, and Q was over the man’s shoulder. “Put me down! James.  _James_! Double-oh seven, I am your superior officer!” he tried, beating Bond’s back with featherlike fists as he was carried to the bathroom.

Bond ignored him, placing him down only once the bathroom door was locked. Q huffed, but did begin to strip down, Bond following.

The pair of them slipped into the warm water, Q curling backwards against Bond’s chest, already bleeding tension into the water. Gently he began to wash Q’s hair, pouring shampoo and massaging it into his head.

Q moaned appreciatively, contentedly leaning into Bond’s touch.

By the time they were both clean, Q was limp. Slightly floppy, even; Bond had to help him to the bedroom while Q yawned and was generally uncoordinated in the extreme.

As he lay down, Bond knelt over his back, hands finding the loosened muscles and working out the last of the tension. Q made what sounded distinctly like a whimper, but a grateful one, as his body tipped over the edge into sleep.


	611. Chapter 611

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey :) first! you two are awesome *hugs* i love your fills ^_^.. but i also have a prompt for you.. kinda angsty but i’ll try.. when Silva and James were kids, they were brothers. silva used to punch James and/or slap him in the face and so on.. now when James older, he can’t help but panic, curl into a ball and start screaming “STOP NO!” when someone tries to give him a high five or clap him on the shoulder.. i know it might be a little wired but. its kinda personal.. don’t ask.. thanks :) – anon

It was the innocuous things, of course. Somehow it always is.

Bond could cope with violence. He could do so beautifully, in fact; a longterm master of hand-to-hand combat, with a penchant on his part for exceptionally deft throttling. It was the job, and Bond had long since learnt to compartmentalise.

Romance, too. Touch. Taste. Skin and sweat and heat. That was different,  _that_  was manageable.

God help anybody who caused any pain, even slight, when in a friendly capacity. A slap on the back made in all good conscience, a gentle cuff around the back of the head when he was being an arse, on one occasional an accidental spilled coffee.

Bond simply panicked. Q couldn’t really blame the man; Raoul Silva didn’t leave scars like other people could or did. Silva left the subtler things, the friendliness that could translate too quickly to hurt, to anger, and it was never predictable. Pain would come from nowhere, from a laugh to a hit, and Bond would regress.

Q had dealt with it surprisingly well, from the first time and indeed onwards. “James,” he would coax, voice soft and lulling. “James, come on. It’s alright. You’re safe here, nobody’s going to hurt you, we never would.”

Eve’s eyes had gone saucer-wide. Q couldn’t explain, and so didn’t try; he just remained by Bond’s side, close but not touching, watching and waiting for his James Bond to unfurl himself.

Q would have been angry, if there had been the slightest point in it. Angry at Silva, at a world that could hurt somebody in such a profound way. It was tempting, but ultimately pointless, of course.

“James?”

Incrementally, Bond would unfurl himself. Q glanced him over, establishing just how far away his lover was, whether James Bond was accessible while the scared child took curious precedence for a time. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “It just takes me a minute.”

Q reached out, letting his hand linger in midair, a question without judgement; Bond gave himself a moment, Q utterly patient, before letting their fingers join. “Are you alright?”

Bond didn’t try to answer too quickly, didn’t try to pretend or to lie. “Not quite,” he conceded, “but will be. I’ll calm down in a minute.”

“James…”

Bond turned to Eve, and gave her a flash of almost-smile. “Don’t worry, could’ve been worse,” he grinned, and let Eve take that as a necessary cue to vanish, before he deflated a little again. “It doesn’t quite ever leave.”

Q didn’t say a word.

He held on.


	612. Chapter 612

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love you’re prompt stuff. So I finally bit the bullet and decided to submit an idea. Bond has a reputation as a “sex god” but what if after Vesper his mind subconsciously makes his body rebel when he has an deeply honest interest for someone. But he has no problems on assignments. What I’m asking for is an impotent!Bond when he realizes what he wants and feels for Q isn’t casual and goes much deeper into the realm of LOVE. – bagera69

Initially, he and Q had fell into bed with absolutely no sense of longevity.  _Then_ , it hadn’t been a problem; Bond’s body had behaved, Q had loved it – and done rather well for himself in the process, it had to be said – and they had an excellent night in bed.

The second time, it was harder.

The third, his body completely gave up the ghost, and Q teased him a bit and Bond felt rather ashamed of his own anatomy but more than that, was a little concerned as to _why_. Of all people, Bond knew his own body, and he knew what could make it respond.

Q was it. Entirely it.

So why his body was abruptly deciding sex was a no-go was fairly beyond him, until he started to find thoughts crawling up the edges of his spine and his psyche, dancing along the edges of consciousness and dipping toes into the forefront of understanding.

Vesper.

Her image only ever cropped up when Bond was wondering if he was traversing the realms of affection once again. Vesper had cropped up in his mind when talking to Alec, to Eve. The people he cared about deeply, and couldn’t bear the thought of losing.

When Bond briefly saw Vesper’s lips in Q’s face, he actually went straight to the ‘panic’ stage, and rationality fell by the wayside; Q was very abruptly abandoned, and Bond went off to wank mercilessly to porn and the thought of people he didn’t actually intend to spend any protracted periods of time with.

The moment Q’s face crossed his mind, his body did the physiological equivalent of a small panic attack, and he wilted with extraordinary speed.

Thus, the next day found Bond knocking on Q’s office door. “Hello,” Q said, with a surprised but still rather happy expression. “What brings you here in the daytime with, as per tradition, nothing for me?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Q blinked. “That’s certainly a good opener. You should probably come in.”

Bond obliged, shutting the door behind him at Q’s behest, while Q remained watching him with vague confusion. “I’m serious,” Bond continued, walking to Q’s desk, looking over him like he barely recognised the younger man. “I have a horrible feeling I’m in love with you.”

“Horrible?” Q echoed with amusement. “You were doing very well up to that stage.”

Bond rolled his eyes. “ _I mean it_.”

“Clearly!” Q returned, laughing, “I’ve rarely seen you so emphatic. So – what’s brought on all this?”

There was no easy way to explain, really, that Bond had become temporarily impotent while trying to work out whether or not he actually felt anything for his Quartermaster. “… and it would seem that…”

Q was grinning.

“You’re laughing at me,” Bond noted.

Q inclined his head slightly. “A bit,” he admitted. “But James, really, don’t worry. I love you too, and that does awful things to me. Not impotence, mind, but it does make sleep an interesting battle from time to time.”

Bond blinked.

One all.


	613. Chapter 613

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone sees James kill someone and they report him to the police? – anon

“Oh, that is just  _perfect_ …”

The sirens blazed, and Bond slowed to a walking pace, and mingled in the dense crowd; shaking off police was usually fairly simple, although they were being surprisingly tenacious. “ _Stop. Police_.”

Fuck.

Bond ran near-enough straight into an officer. “You’re under arrest for murder. You do not have to say anything…”

Q was going to find it bloody  _hilarious_.

-

In short: yes. Q found it ridiculously funny, and also the most annoying waste of his time in recent past.

A passer-by had heard the gunshot, seen the body, noted Bond’s description as he left the scene. Bond hadn’t precisely been in a hurry, so had just moved away quietly enough and was honestly just confused by the police abruptly getting hold of him.

“I’ve had to pull more strings than you could imagine,” Q chastised, shaking his head a little at Bond’s rampant stupidity. “It is really beyond you to actually  _get away from your newly made murder-scene_  after shooting somebody in the head? Really?! I mean, scarred police officers, I’ve had to block off  _streets_ …”

Bond looked suitably repentant.

It helped that he was on the wrong end of a conversation with M, R had handed him the  _reams_  of paperwork Q-branch needed from him, Eve had laughed herself senseless in between informing Bond that he had go back into early-stage training refreshers on idiotic-things-agents-should-never-do.

“One mistake.  _One_.”

Q didn’t bother not grinning. “I mean, one of your best,” he said delightedly. “I’ve had baby agents who slipped policemen better.”

“I hate you.”

“Paperwork on my desk by this evening,” Q reminded him, with a truly wicked grin. “Fare well for now, double-oh seven. No paperwork, no sex, and I really don’t think you want the day to get much worse.”

Bond let out an aggrieved wail, and started angrily filling forms.


	614. Chapter 614

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt to add to the pile! James helps an elderly lady get home one day (he is a gentleman after all). Surprisingly, they became close friends and James visits her when he is back in England. She keeps hinting at setting James up, so he can find a bit of happiness and finally convinces him to meet her son who would be “just perfect.” James arrives at her house for dinner to find his blind date is none other than Q! – leafwolfuniverse

Bels was a wonderful woman; Bond had been rather close to her for a surprisingly long time now, sharing everything from coffee to secrets – although the woman mostly drank tea, ridiculously strong tea at that – and she teased him mercilessly about most of his adventuring while very unsubtly suggestion that  _perhaps_  he would do well in finding somebody.

“My son’s the same – terribly lonely boy,” she explained, dipping a digestive into her tea absentmindedly. “Not to mention that it’s a trickier one sometimes, when you prefer boys. Do you, James?”

If he hadn’t been very used to her, the bluntness of the question would have amply sideswiped Bond for a good few seconds; as it was, he simply smiled slightly. “Both ways,” he replied lightly, to which she returned a sage nod.

“Best way to be, if you ask. The world is far too constrictive,” she told him, with a strange merge of conviction and dreaminess.

Bond just adored her.

Of course, shortly after that – and he really,  _truly_  shouldn’t have been surprised – Bels began to drop increasingly unsubtle hints about the possibility of a blind date between Bond and her son.

“Well, given my job, it’s probably not the best of…”

“He works with  _your lot_  too,” she told him, with a tone of contempt in her voice about the job itself. “No offence dear, but I don’t like the idea of him involved with it all – his choice, your choice, but I don’t have to like it.”

Bond smiled slightly. “What department?” he asked, fairly carefully: if he was fraternising with MI5, he would be on the chopping block faster than he could think.

Bel glanced at him, shrugged dramatically, and continued to make him tea which she was  _convinced_  he would one day convert to.

Eventually, Bond just conceded defeat. He meant no harm to whoever her son was, but he knew it was never likely to work, so he felt a little bit of a fraud as he met in the restaurant Bel had organised everything in.

“Really, Q, this practically constitutes stalking,” Bond snorted, as he spotted his Quartermaster, of all people. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Q raised an eyebrow, lips in a thin line. “If you must know,” he said, a little cuttingly, “I’m here for a date. Thus all your usual quips can be placed to one side for the time being, would you agree. And you?”

“Also for a date, as it happens. How charming. We should pull up tables together and see what happens with all four of us.”

A brief eye roll. “Knowing you, you wind up in a threesome and I will go water my plants and/or my cat. I honestly hate blind dates, this promises to be a fairly frightening venture. Sit down, you may as well. What’s she like?”

“He,” Bond corrected, sitting down opposite Q. “And I have no idea, it’s a blind date.”

Q’s expression had set, somewhat. “Yes,” he murmured. “That’s what concerned me. You’re… excellent. Just, superb. I’m going to  _kill_  my mother.”

“You’re what?”

“How does she even  _know you?!_ ”

Bond finally realised: “ _You’re_  Bels’s son?!”

“Bels. You call my mother  _Bels_. How in the  _fuck_ is this happening?!”

“No idea,” Bond conceded, shaking his head in disbelief, before a small smile started creeping. “Since we’re here though – dinner?”

Q raised an eyebrow, glanced skywards.

Consider.

“Sod it, may as well,” he grumbled, and reached for the menu.


	615. Chapter 615

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My birthdays on the 25 of this month I’ll be 17 and iv kinda stoped having party’s couse over the years people stoped coming to them. Could you um do a really fluffy 00Q fic for me ? – tobiismycat

“Well no,” Q mused aloud, “I never really saw the point, after a while. Teenagedom was hardly my area of expertise, and those around me knew it, and were perfectly content to make my life unpleasant at length, so no, actually. I  _don’t_.”

Bond looked incredibly sad, actually, in a way Q didn’t especially like and had very little idea of what to actually do with. “Sorry, but Q, that’s… I think I’m going to have to do something about that.”

“Like what? Drug people and force them into attendance through malice or mild threat? No, James. No parties, so celebrations. I will never say no to cake, but I think that’s more of a life-rule than a birthday-rule.”

Bond had that look in his eyes. The look that Q had learned to be rather wary of. The look that said he was Up To Something

“Bond…”

“Nothing to worry about,” Bond told him, grin impossibly wide. “Really. I have it all under control.”

He sauntered away, just about hearing Q’s parting words: “Yes, that’s what concerns me…”

-

Q saw it coming. Of course he saw it coming; James Bond, for all his training, was one of the least subtle human beings Q would probably ever know. Q rather saw the whole party thing from several miles away, and just watched it with interest and – admittedly – general disbelief.

Bond was throwing him a party.

Q watched, and waited, and stayed as far away from it as possible because god damn it, he didn’t want to be disappointed. Not again. He had been disappointed far too many times on subjects of this nature and so stayed well back, and let himself hope for true surprise as and when and if.

He was daring to dream. Bond could do that, make him dream a little.

_“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”_

Yes. Yes, Bond could find ways to perpetually surprise him.

His boyfriend slid closer as the entirety of Q-branch and a good number of MI6 operatives from other branches had joined together, in a loud chorus, and in the centre of the room was a monstrous creation that reached halfway to the ceiling. “I may have taken you seriously about the cake,” Bond murmured to him, as Q remained frozen in disbelief and utter, frantic delight.

“Thank you,” he called out loudly, relatively certain he was blushing to his feet and then some.

Bond squeezed his hand, and Q held on back, holding tightly to make sure, to make _certain_ , he would never let go.


	616. Chapter 616

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just came back from trip and I’m very motion sick, and that’s only happens when I have to sit in the back of the car. I was kinda hoping for a fic where Q has the same – kyuun-chan

“No, Bond, I’m going in the front.”

“The back. It’s safest.”

“This is  _not_  a negotiation!”

“ _We do not have time for this_.”

Q voted with his feet; he pulled open the front passenger door, and slid himself in stubbornly. Bond gave an aimless yell of irritation, and wound up in the driver’s seat telling Q to at  _least_  slide down so he was out of shotline.

“Bond, I get extreme car sickness,” Q explained simply. “If I can’t see where I’m going, I will throw up, and believe me when that shall be far worse for you than me getting shot. If I’m dead, I’m dead. If I’m throwing up, I’m bitchy.”

Honestly, never had Bond been plagued with a more nightmarish passenger in any car for his entire life. “You’re going to  _throw up_?” he snapped. “What are you,  _six_?!”

Abruptly all hell broke loose.

Q gave a yelp as gunshots started and the car started swerving absolutely everywhere. “This is ridiculous,” Q mumbled, feeling honestly rather harassed, and beginning to feel very nauseous already. “ _James_ , I…”

“If you throw up on me, I  _swear_  I will kill you,” Bond told him sharply, as he careened around a corner.

“ _I don’t like it_.”

“I don’t  _care_ ,” Bond retorted instantly, the car bouncing over the curb dramatically, and Q gagged. “ _Q I am warning you_ …”

“I can’t  _not_ ,” he snapped back, yelping as a bullet bounced off the protected glass windows – thank god for his own technology – and was terrified of it shattering for a moment. The glass would shatter, and/or he would vomit. Just stellar. Absolutely brilliant.

Q gagged.

Bond floored the accelerator, and Q retched slightly. “James, I feel very unwell.”

“ _WAIT TWO MINUTES_.”

Q breathed carefully, tried not to throw up, tried and tried not to throw up.

“That’s two minutes,” he said conversationally, as the car whipped around yet  _another_ corner. Mercifully, the shooting seemed to have stopped, however.

Bond pulled up.

Q opened the door, and vomited out of it onto the pavement, managing – in an act of impeccable aim – to avoid the side of the car.

He closed the door, wiped his mouth, reached into his messenger bag for his usual bottle of water. “As you were,” he said, a little weakly, and found some chewing gum too as Bond hurtled straight back into action.


	617. Chapter 617

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t mean to be a bother, but if you find time, maybe a 00Q fic with a grumpy Fem!Q on her period who wants to destroy everything and craves for ice cream and James tries to cheer her up? – anon

“You have no idea,  _no idea_ , how much pain I am currently in.”

Bond could honestly say he agreed, wholeheartedly. He had no idea, and he really didn’t want to pretend he did given that Q looked like she was ready and raring to kill anybody who wasn’t extremely nice to her. “James,  _why the fuck aren’t you getting painkillers?!_ ”

“You’re not due for another two hours.”

Q let out a war-cry of pain and anger and fury, and Bond drew out chocolate instead. “Oh, so I’m going to get fat  _and_  lose most of the blood in my body. Stellar idea,” she ranted, before abruptly looking up. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I just  _can’t_ , right now. I fucking hate everything and I  _know_  I’m not very nice to be around…”

“It’s fine,” Bond told her, quite honestly; she glanced up with acid in her expression. “Honestly, Q, don’t worry about it. What can I get you?”

Q blinked. “I don’t deserve you,” she mumbled, beginning to get worryingly teary; Bond let out a small breath, and leaned in to press a small kiss to Q’s lips. “Ice cream. Lots of it. And more tea. Lots more tea. And the chocolate.”

Bond handed over the chocolate, intelligently deigning not to make any form of comment. Q went to her work, as Bond edged towards the door. “I’m going fucking  _fire_ whoever did this abominable piece of work,” she growled.

“No, you’re not,” Bond soothed from the door; Q’s head snapped up.

“ _How do you know_?!”

Bond quieted, slid out before Q started to nuke things.

There was a frozen yogurt shop not far from HQ. Bond had taken Q there a couple of times, and Bond knew full well that Q adored the place.

This time would be a touch different from the norm: “I want a full tub.”

“Small, medium or large?”

“One of the gallon tubs, in every single flavour you have” Bond corrected, with surprising confidence for a man asking something quite so bizarre. “I will only ask once: my girlfriend is having a difficult time at the moment, and I prefer her to you. Just give me the damn ice cream.”

“Frozen yogurt.”

Bond raised an eyebrow.

-

“Here you are.”

Q glanced up to see her perfect boyfriend, standing in front of her with a mug of Earl Grey and a bowl of ice cream; she paused, midway through a rant at a minion who took their cue to very quickly vanish. “James…”

“It’s even frozen yogurt, so healthy, and you won’t worry about in a few hours’ time. There’s some more in the staff room freezer, if you want it.”

Bond was honestly terrified for a moment, when she threw herself forward. “I love you, James Bond.”

Bond kissed the top of her head, exhaling in relief. “Love you too,” he said honestly, and left her to expunge angry hormones at an unwitting passerby.


	618. Chapter 618

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for doing my last prompt, it was bloody amazing! Is it possibly okay if I can have another one (If you’re not too busy)? Something happens to Bond on a mission and he is presumed dead. As Q is the closest person to Bond, he inherits Bond’s things. As he is looking through them, he discovers a few homemade tapes, which have Bond singing on them (bonus if it’s Elvis) and Q takes to listening to them everywhere. Thank you so much! The-Fangirl-Blogger

Q was just settled quite happily, cross-legged, glancing through Bond’s belongings. Yes; he was enjoying seeing what had once made Bond the person he was, the trappings of a world he had never been able to quite share with Bond.

Bond had such a past that none could believe, and in the short time they’d had Q couldn’t have begun to know everything. He knew some, certainly, and enough to keep him with memories and laughter and help him forget – for a heartbeat – there would be no further.

The tapes were a surprise.

Bond had a beautiful voice. He truly did. Most of the tapes were from what Q assumed was a band, or something similar; some were acoustic works; some were covers of older singles which Q had a particular fondness for.

It made Q wonder quite what had made Bond ever stop. He hadn’t sung much, around the house. In fact, Q couldn’t remember  _ever_  having heard him sing; he was James Bond, silent and deadly and snorted when Q danced along to unheard songs in his head and yet had always seemed to understand.

Q missed him horribly in these moments. More than any other time; he wanted to get the questions answered, hear the stories, finally  _understand_  all the things he would never be able to know now.

“Bastard,” Q mumbled at the tapes, and stood on shaky legs to rip them onto his ipod.

-

After that stage, he went nowhere without his ipod, without Bond’s voice. He had always been quite devoted to music, always music on the edges of himself, but  _now_ ; now, he had, Bond always. He would keep Bond with him.

It had to be said, everybody found him rather odd for it.

Q didn’t care.  _You ain’t nothing but a hound dog…_

It made him laugh more than any of the others, just because the idea of Bond dressing as Elvis made him particularly happy; of course the man probably never would, but flares would have suited him.

Q giggled, and it didn’t translate to crying, for some reason.

It was just  _there_ , for a little while. The knowledge of his safety net, of his James Bond, of music and forgetting; he wasn’t quite happy, but it would do for now.

The day he forgot to bring it to work, Q found himself a little more fragile than usual. Anger and grief and want and hate lived on the surface of his skin, and he just waited for it to pass and to come home, and sob into the sofa with Bond crooning  _Cry Me a River_ with a voice like molten velvet.

Later, much later, and Q found that he didn’t need it. He liked it, certainly, but the _compulsion_  was gone.

Later still, and he didn’t take it into work any more.

Just once in a while, when he was lonely or just  _because_ , he would pick it up again, and Bond would sing songs to him as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep.


	619. Chapter 619

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen&Lex-hellow! I’m trying to studying…Exams.I miss my 00Q fandom so much. Prompt : (Fluff&comfort&tea). AU University. Q is upsets and he can not sleep before exams. James is his boyfriend and tries to help him relax/keep calm. Bed, tea, kisses. Really need this fic. Lots of love, shipimpala (probably still alive…i don’t know how long becouse i have really complicated relationship with my books…) – shipimpala

Q was tangibly panicking. Honestly, Bond was caught between finding it very endearing, and hitting the boy rather hard over the head with something solid; he let Q be instead, trying to diffuse the tension that making him half-whimper with panic over impending exams.

Honestly, Bond understood very little indeed of what Q was doing. It didn’t matter much. He let Q do what he was good at, and just tried to mop up the remnants of his boyfriend’s sanity at the end of it all.

“I’m going to fail everything.”

It was the fourth time that day Bond had been assured of that fact by his now-very-tearful boyfriend.

“Q,” he said gently – Q never went by anything other than ‘Q’, and got extremely irate with anybody who called him otherwise – “you need to calm down. It’s fine. _You’re_  fine. You’re ridiculously clever, you know that…”

Q let out a small whimpering noise, and Bond pulled him away softly to face him. “You need sleep.”

“But…”

“No,” Bond insisted, bringing Q’s knuckles to his lips in a brief kiss. “Sleep. Now. Not-sleeping will  _definitely_  not help your exams. You need to rest, eat a good breakfast, drink lots of tea in the morning and go into it with your head fresh.”

For a moment, it looked like Q would object; then, he gave a small sigh, and nodded fairly meekly.

“Good,” Bond murmured, smiling. “Bath?”

A small headshake. “Shower in the morning,” Q returned. “Can I… just want to snuggle, really.”

Bond’s smile moved into an all-out grin. “I think we can arrange that,” he agreed, and immediately scooped a very alarmed Q into a fireman’s lift.

“Put me down put me down  _put me down_ ,” Q shrieked, batting at Bond slightly, yelping as he was plopped unceremoniously onto the bed, Bond clambering straight in after him and smothering him in a hug without further ado.

Q let out a small sound, and burrowed into Bond’s side. “Love you,” he murmured at his boyfriend, who just smiled, and wrapped him in tighter.


	620. Chapter 620

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I request James in the immediate aftermath of M dying and Q helping him through it? – anon

Bond was not quite catatonic.

No. He was just very drunk, and very quiet, and angry in a way that was frightening rather than dangerous; he wouldn’t lash out or shout or be violent, but Q just  _knew_  he would be terrifying if given half the chance.

Q stepped into his flat, letting out a quiet breath.

The agent looked up and down him, raised an eyebrow. “Well, Quartermaster,” he slurred. “It’s a pleasure to see you too. How’s your failure treating you? Feeling it yet?”

“Don’t you dare,” Q snapped.

Of all things, he would never, ever accept that. It was not his fault, it was  _not_  his fault that M had died and left James Bond alone; Q had done his work, he had done his job and  _yes_ , he had made mistakes, but that did not mean and would  _never mean_  that he would be blamed for the death of a brilliant woman.

Bond just smiled without any humour at all. “And why not?” he asked, with a soft growl edging his voice. “Why should I  _not_  blame you? Your cock-up let him in, boy genius.”

Q slapped him.

Bond pounced forward, and pinned Q against the wall by the throat.

A small choking sound, and Q was fumbling, Bond was unapologetic and then, and _then_ , there was a spasm of pure and terrifying energy.

Bond stumbled back, disarmed and angry and quite a large amount electrocuted, snarling at Q as though being attacked was somehow  _his_  fault. “Don’t you dare this about me,” Q snapped at him, angrier than Bond had thought he could be. “You feel guilty  because she’s dead, well,  _superb_ , we all do. I have to work. I have a job, and a life, and a fucking cat, and I can’t afford to spend a night drinking myself to hospitalisation or attacking my superiors because I will lose  _everything_. Maybe you can disappear to the far side of the fucking world and everything works just  _fine_  for you, but I can’t. Show some  _fucking_  maturity, double-oh seven. You have responsibilities too.”

“To  _what?!”_  Bond yelled back. “MI6 is a dying institution…”

Q let out a strange, ugly cackle. “Of course,  _that’s_  your excuse,” he hissed, all vitriol. “Because you’re outdated, clearly all of MI6 is. That’s just superb, well done, and it hasn’t occurred that Skyfall  _happened_. That all of these things  _keep happening_. I have agents across the world, as we speak. Undercover, infiltrating, shooting and dying and trying to survive, doing  _precisely_ what you’ve always done. The game isn’t over, it’s just changed shape a little, and to think otherwise is moronic and frankly lazy. You don’t  _want_  to think of it as the same thing. You want to think it’s all new and shiny and out of your grasp so you don’t feel responsible.”

Bond restrained himself from snapping the upstart child’s neck with extreme difficulty. “You think you’re so  _fucking_  clever.”

“Compared to the middle-aged man drinking himself to death? Yes. I do,” Q conceded without much difficulty or indeed apology. “Get a grip on yourself, Bond. I won’t write up your attempted assault, for the record, although believe me when I say your levels of paperwork will be unforgiving in the imminent future.”

“Fuck you.”

“You need to get to sleep,” Q told him, a little more kindly now; Bond was visibly slipping, exhaustion and grief conspiring neatly. “Bond. Come on, now.”

Bond glanced up, eyes half-dead.

He took Q’s hand, and let himself be led away.


	621. Chapter 621

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond are going to Venice for a romantic vacation, but since Q won’t fly, they have to drive. Q insists that Bond do all the driving instead of sitting in the front seat and pouting every time Q takes the wheel (he’s always been a nearly insufferable passenger when traveling by car). Bond insists that he can do the whole nearly-15-hours-not-counting-stops in one day, even if Q doesn’t help him. – anon

“Alright, that’s it. That is  _it_.”

Q had pulled over, was now staring at Bond with slightly wild eyes and livid anger. “What?” Bond asked, the epitome of innocence.

“You’re driving. You win. I won’t spend another moment in this car with you being like this, I can’t do it. You’re driving me mad. Swap.”

Bond didn’t even vaguely try to conceal his joy, sliding into the driver’s seat and rolling his shoulders, flexing fingers, ready to enjoy himself. “I hate you,” Q muttered, while simultaneously pathetically grateful that the man was no longer backseat driving and generally making Q’s life hell.

They hadn’t made it off the M25 yet.

“We’ll need to take a break somewhere after Paris, by the way, want to get through the rush hour though, and then I’ll swap back in.”

“No, you won’t,” Bond told him simply, “and I’m going to circle around Paris, and head down that way.”

“That’ll take twice as long.”

“Not including traffic,” Bond told him, swerving back out into the road with confidence and idiocy that made Q feel honestly a little bit sick. “There we are. Now, stop  _worrying_ , Q, I’ll be absolutely fine driving.”

Q was gaping: “You cannot hope to drive for a full day on your own, you just can’t. You will exhaust yourself, stop driving anywhere  _near_  carefully enough – which isn’t a stretch, by the way – and then we will die. We will completely honest-to-god die.”

Bond rolled his eyes, shooting off onto the sliproad happily and peeling into the fast lane of the new M-road they’d wound up on. “No deaths, agent’s honour.”

“Not encouraging.”

“Q…”

“You will take breaks. You will hand the wheel over to me.”

Bond just glanced at him – causing Q to shriek briefly about ‘eyes on the road’ – and told him simply: “If you would fly, this wouldn’t be necessary. Don’t get pissed off with me because of it.”

Q was quiet and mutinous and very, very cross.

Bond just snorted, and floored the accelerator.


	622. Chapter 622

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst lover… I was curious if you wonderful writers could do an Alpha/Omega where Q is having his and James’ baby but there is complications and James is told by the doctor to choose. Q almost dying and such… angst .. and near death and maybe if you want.. fluff and Q living through it. can we make it a C section birth. any other way makes me kinda queasy. thank you both!!! – anon

Bond looked over his partner, brushing damp hair out of Q’s eyes and trying to think, deciding quickly it was an impossible choice to make.

He couldn’t lose Q.

If he kept Q, he would lose his child.

Q was in a lot of pain, but not completely stupid; he knew that matters would be coming to a head, probably even guessed what was coming. “James, if it goes wrong…”

“We have to risk it,” Bond told him, with more apology than he knew his voice could carry. “If we don’t, you  _will_  die.”

The doctors had told him the risks: Q, his child, the possibility of further children. The risks were terrifying, but if not, Bond would lose Q  _and_  potentially his child, and there was simply no contest beyond that point. If Q lived, they would still find ways to raise a family, Bond  _knew_  that.

It would shatter Q.

He would heal.

Bond made the call, and saw the man he loved wheeled into the operating theatre, Bond himself left to wait and to pray and to think and to hope upon hope he had made the right call.

-

Q woke up feeling like he had cotton wool rammed down his throat, almost entirely unable to speak or think very coherently. “James?” he mumbled, before abruptly remembering everything that had happened. “ _James_.”

“Shh,” a voice soothed from above him, gentle and lulling. “You’ll wake her up.”

If Q’s body had been even vaguely dextrous, he would have sat up and been very active extremely quickly; as it was, he just gaped slightly, mouth falling slack as he tried to make words compute. “What?” he managed.

“She’s okay,” Bond told him, popping Q’s glasses carefully onto his face. “All okay. Don’t move too much, you’re going to be very weak for a little while, had to do an emergency C-section – I thought I was going to lose you, Q.”

Q couldn’t quite find words. “Where?”

Bond quirked a smile, and pressed the button on the bed to let Q rise up a little, too see the bassinet waiting at the bottom of the bed. “Oh my god,” he mumbled, and his arms stretched outwards, seeking contact. “ _James_. Is…?”

“Our daughter,” Bond told him, with more pride than Q had known he could hold in his voice. “She’s fine, a real fighter.”

“Like her father.”

“Which one?” Bond teased gently, and Q laughed weakly as Bond plucked a bundle of blankets out of the bassinet, crooning at it before delivering it to Q’s waiting arms.

Q thought that falling in love with Bond had been the fastest, and most ridiculous, experience of his life.

This moment outweighed it entirely.


	623. Chapter 623

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is my headcanon that Q is ex-military, maybe even a former army sniper. Could you write a fic in which Q is sent on a mission with Bond - not to do anything Q-Branch related, but to take a very difficult shot? Perhaps Bond is rather surprised and impressed with this. And you two are lovely, as usual :-). – anon

“I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself,” Bond snapped, pacing after M as he strode down the corridor, ignoring the riled double-oh agent quite entirely; Bond was annoyed, and he was being petulant, and M knew it and didn’t care much. “M,  _M_ , I do not need to take Q along for the sake of a bloody shot, I’m a  _professional_.”

M rolled his eyes. “Professional who has yet to regain the dexterity of his youth, or indeed practise adequately on the shooting range for me to trust him with a shot this delicate – and I would prefer Q to have backup, there are some aspects of this mission which require your particular skill sets.”

“Required to sleep with somebody?”

“More or less,” M returned, without much mercy; Bond raised an eyebrow. “Bond, do as you’re damn well told.”

A moment of quiet. “ _Fine_.”

-

Q was impressively good at not responding to Bond’s baiting. He was very good at being very sarcastic indeed, but didn’t seem enormously distracted by Bond’s general demeanour. “Bond, if you could curb your unpleasantries?”

He just wouldn’t stop. “What the  _hell_  are you even  _doing_  here, you’re a  _quartermaster_. _Not_  an agent. This is my job. This…”

Q fired precisely one shot.

Bond’s eyes widened.

The mark was dead. Entirely dead. A single headshot from a truly superb distance, doubtlessly beyond what Bond was capable of, and one of the single best shots Bond had seen in a very long time.

“You…”

Q looked over at him. Raised an eyebrow eloquently. “Me. Well done, Bond, excellent observation. Problem?”

Bond glanced at their dead target, to Q again. Q was still very much armed, and had never looked more appealing in all the time Bond had known him. The man was  _lethal_.

“None whatsoever,” Bond told him simply, and took Q’s cue to evacuate.


	624. Chapter 624

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Historical AU? Q’s sister is betrothed to Lord Bond but convinces Q to switch places with her. Q has trouble saying no to her so he does it. Bond, because he’s not an idiot, figures it out really quickly and goes along with it without telling them. He actually prefers marrying Q. Q’s the one who gets the surprise on the wedding night when he finds that Bond doesn’t mind that he’s a boy in the least. – runemarks

The boy was under a veil, and was quite definitely and absolutely unmistakeably a boy, despite his very endearing efforts to pretend otherwise. For the love of all things: he’d made the dress work very well in his favour, given himself a very nice bust and the promise of very long legs, and while no – it was  _not_  the woman he was expecting – Bond had a good degree of admiration for anybody who tried to fool a Lord of the Realm in a dress.

Especially given that he knew full well it was his fiancée’s brother.

Thus, Bond made the surprisingly easy decision to actually just marry the kid. He knew ‘Q’ – as everybody had nicknamed him – very well indeed. They all did. Clever and sharp, beautiful in a delicate but strong way. Bond couldn’t resist.

He kissed Q’s hand, slid a ring onto his finger. The rest of their courting, their intimacy, would wait until the wedding night.

“Sorry,” Q said sheepishly. “She’s very compelling when she asks… and she’s my sister, and I  _hated_  the idea of her being married off anyway, and I… well, you…”

Bond smiled, not unkindly. “Q – it was obvious from the outset,” he said gently. “You made a compelling woman, but I know her, I know you, and I know  _women_. It’s quite alright, I can understand why – in a sense – but I had rather hoped it was partly for your benefit as much as for your sister’s.”

Q gaped.

Eventually, he seemed to regain  _some_  control of his facilities. “I…” he managed, before trailing off. “You married me anyway?!”

“Of course,” Bond smirked, reaching out to his new husband, letting their fingers twine carefully with as much safety as they could manage. “If you have no objections, I’d rather like to consummate it.”

It seemed that Q had gone into some form of suspended shock.

"If you’ve no objections, of course…”  
Q gaped, seemed to remember how to construct sentences, albeit uncertainly. “Really… you really want to…?” he asked with evident confusion, not quite managing to keep Bond’s gaze.

Bond answered him with a kiss, swooping down and capturing Q’s lips in a surprisingly gentle, almost explorative kiss; Q gasped into his mouth, allowing Bond to pick him up in a typical bridal fashion and making a mild shriek of shock.

Q was so light; Bond was almost worried about breaking him, keeping him held in a way that allowed Q freedom of motion, barred him from accidental harm. Bond’s worries were swiftly alleviated as he placed Q down onto the bed, and the young man instantly reached up and locked their bodies together, pinning Bond on top of him.  
The younger man was already hard, rolling his hips up to meet Bond, Bond himself grinning and bearing down as he lavished the boy in kisses; Q couldn’t quite believe his luck, meanwhile, given that he had somewhat expected to be met with a very pissed-off Lord Bond and  _definitely_  no sex.

As Bond’s hands snaked downwards, and Q let out a soft cry, he had to concede that he had struck stupidly,  _wonderfully_  lucky.


	625. Chapter 625

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi you two! i have a little wired song-fic bullet by hollywood undead Q is dead and james wants to commit suicide. Q comes and saves him in the last gap of time. its gonna be a happy, happy fic :D and if james could sing the song it would be awesome – nann7970

Bond let out a small sigh.

Everything reaches a stage, and everything reaches a time, and Bond had found his: he had run out, life had trickled to a gentle and fairly understandable stop. Before matters went any further, or he found anything more to lose, Bond was making his choice.

Bond had worked in and around death long enough to know how to do it. He had a gun, and that was simple enough, Bond’s mind could compute kill shots from feet away, let alone from an arm’s length. Quick and simple and easy, and he would see them as the dawn broke over him and his shell.

He sang a half-remembered song under his breath, and breathed in.

“ _No_.”

Bond looked up, to see the one person he was trying to seek more than any other. “ _Fuck_. You’re early.”

Q was in motion, immediately disarming Bond – the older agent couldn’t actually breathe, so it was hardly a difficult task – and taking parts of his gun apart, it seemed. In a few deft motions Q had rendered the thing a lump of metal and plastic, Bond watching, still not moving.

Everything had become very, very still.

“You absolute fuck,” Q mumbled, shaking violently as he watched Bond. “You absolute… fucking  _hell_ , James, what the  _fuck_  are you playing at? If I’d been… if I’d… James, I can’t lose you, and  _not_  like that,  _not_  when you shouldn’t be…”

Q half-collapsed, letting out a bitten-off sob as he did so, glancing up at Bond and barely managing to stop himself hyperventilating.

Bond had gone fully catatonic.

“What happened?”

Q glanced up, still shaking, white as chalk. “What?”

“You died.”

Q let out a slightly hysterical giggle. “Abducted. They faked my death. No harm done, no bloody harm to me, barely bruised ironically fucking enough but you, James, you… _fuck_ …”

His voice trailed off.

Silence, once again.

Slowly, very slowly, Bond shifted. He slid off his chair, so slow, so tentative, reaching out to Q’s contorted form, fingers extended, somehow curious, somehow frightened, and when there was finally contact – warm, Bond was so warm, and Q’s skin was somehow freezing – Bond couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Q leaned into the contact, letting out a short, fractured sob, and half-toppled into Bond’s arms, neither saying a word, holding on in utter silence with no idea where to go.


	626. Chapter 626

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, since I spent the last five days in pain, I think I’m going to have to request some fluff to make me feel better. Q has a terrible diet and doesn’t take care of his body, so he gets a severe belly ache and James has to take care of him and is far more nurturing than Q thought he’d be. (Bonus points if there’s tummy rubs. ;) ) –theanimecharacterreview

“Well, Q, this is really what happens when you don’t look after yourself properly…”

Q let out a small whine, feeling extremely sorry for himself and in a horrible amount of pain, stomach kicking him repeatedly from the inside. “I know,  _I know_ , please don’t lecture me,” he pleaded. “I feel like crap already, and really don’t need you to keep telling me what an idiot I am. Worked that out a while ago. I am very, very stupid and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bond tsked, shaking his head a little, rubbing careful circles over Q’s stomach with a confident hand. “You’re an idiot, but it happens. It’s more important that you’re alright now.”

Q let out a small, plaintive sort of sound. “I know,” Bond murmured. “I know, love.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Again – stop being sorry.”

Q mumbled slightly, and found himself wailing as his intestines revolted violently; it hurt like hell, he wanted to sleep, he didn’t want to keep on thinking too hard about anything, but he kept getting cramps and it kept him awake. Too awake. “Want to sleep.”

“Soon, love,” Bond coaxed, kissing his forehead gently, still rubbing his stomach fondly and feeling motion beneath his hand; he resisted the urge to smirk slightly, and completely failed to not giggle when Q farted very loudly indeed. “Probably for the best.”

Q blushed impressively.

“I’m sorry…”

“For the  _last time_ ,” Bond told him, with mock-irritation, grinning despite himself; Q was still perfect to him, even when a complete mess, even when he’d let himself go to pieces. “Do you think you could get some water into you?”

“Maybe.”

“Q?”

“ _Okay_ ,” he whined, borderline petulant, making a startled and aggrieved noise when Bond stopped rubbing his stomach. “Don’t stop. It’s nice.”

Bond leaned in, kissed Q’s distorted stomach, and couldn’t help snorting with laughter as it actually responded with an enthusiastic gurgle.


	627. Chapter 627

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt? Q and Bond regularly fuck, but when Bond is interested in a relationship, Q turns him down quickly - It’s just “stress relief” for him. Angst please? Xxx – optimisticstorm

Q stretched, luxuriating like a particularly contented cat, sore in all of the right places and blissfully post-orgasmic; Bond was truly excellent in bed, it had to be said, and Q was feeling absolutely delightful.

Bond rolled onto one side slightly, looking over Q, examining every inch of him with the small smile he so often had when he looked over his younger lover. “How are you feeling?”

Q yawned, smirking. “Excellent as always. And yourself?”

“Good,” Bond replied, very softly. “Very good, actually.”

Somehow, the tone of voice didn’t register. It simply didn’t occur to Q for an instant that Bond would be that mad, that he would possible –  _could_  possibly – want anything more than they already had. Why on  _earth_  he would want to ruin it was beyond him.

And so, when Bond asked the immortal question – “Would you like dinner?” – he couldn’t help but feel a little bit annoyed, more than anything else.

“No”, he said honestly.

Bond looked like he had been hit over the head with a mallet. “What?” he managed, with tangible confusion. “Why not?!”

“Because I really like what we have, and I really  _don’t_  like the idea of a relationship – Bond, this is a great arrangement, but fuck, I’m  _quartermaster_. I don’t have time for a relationship, and you’re… fuck. Fuck.”

Q tumbled out of bed, and started pulling clothing on, afterglow well and truly lost.

“Q…”

“I can’t lie to you, and this arrangement just won’t work if you want something more,” Q explained, sounding equal parts regretful and angry. “It never occurred, I mean, I never… I never  _dreamed_  this would become more. You’ve had this… this sort of arrangement before and it never… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, James, but no.”

It was a weird concept. Bond wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or devastated or both, and the fact of the latter registering at all was indicative of the fact that he had let this go too far. He had fallen for Q more profoundly than he had ever begun to anticipate, and the loss – the  _fact of it_ , of knowing Q didn’t nor could want him – was more than he knew how to bear.

“You’re certain?” he asked instead, with an edge of fragility Q simply didn’t know how to handle.

He nodded.

Bond watched Q dress and walk away, and didn’t try to stop him.


	628. Chapter 628

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hullo lovelies! Can I ask for 00Q prompt where Q is in fact a law student (Harvard Law School or whatsoever) without any formal education on CS and hacking/programming are more of a hobby? So when everyone find out they are so impressed and a little bit scared? It would be wonderful if you make it a Bondlock fill <3<3 Love you girls! – anon

Nobody quite knew what to do, when the accommodation building was stormed by a collection of armed men with a lot of gun and even more muscle. Most of the responses were along the lines of panic-and-cry.

When the boy down the hall had his door kicked in, there was no way in hell anybody could have been more shocked; he never said boo too anybody, he was a very quiet and very accomplished law student with good grades and not too many friends. He was actually mostly antisocial.

Everybody supposed it probably made sense that he was actually involved in a fair amount of illegal behaviour. God alone knew what he’d done. He was skinny, so maybe drugs. Something interesting, in any case, and everybody was gossiping ad nauseam.

M was naturally fascinated by the kid. They hauled him into an MI6 interrogation room, sat him down, and Her Majesty’s Finest began their good work trying to establish quite what a reticent law student was doing hacking MI6 firewalls with a beautifully constructed programme and no knowledge of IT.

The boy was known only as Q. MI6 did not want any forces externally knowing the identity of their newfound hacker, especially when fully intending to absorb him into the general melee of MI6 and leave him there. Whoever ‘Q’ once was, he certainly was not any longer.

Of course, everybody in Q-branch hated him. He was called Q precisely because he epitomised what they all did, only he  _did it better_ , which was galling to say the least; he was a  _law student_ , for the love of god, and would attempt to bleat about his rights _while in the middle of_  some truly exceptional programming.

They would get used to him.

For now, everybody settled for general distrust, and watched him warily, waiting for the slightest of excuses to depose the upstart boy.

“Q, is it now?”

Q glanced up at his erstwhile brother, who – to his frustration – looked ridiculously smug.

“What do you want?”

Sherlock sauntered in, elegantly draping himself across Q’s chairs and smirking outright. “Mycroft is  _livid_.”

“Sherlock, what do you  _want_?!”

“You hacked MI6.”

“Yes.”

“You’re now working for them?”

“Yes.”

“You knew  _how_.”

“Yes.”  
“We underestimated you.”

_“Yes_ ,” Q completed, with tangible exasperation. “You were busy getting high, Mycroft was just busy, and I am a  _bloody_  Holmes. Of course you underestimated me. You assumed I was an idiot, because I didn’t feel the need to  _show off_.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

They sat in silence, for a moment.

“Got any coke?”

“ _Sherlock._ ”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Tea?”

Q let out an aggrieved sigh, and went to make some.

 


	629. Chapter 629

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do an angsty prompt, James comes back from a mission after he’s been raped and Q doesn’t know what to do? – anon

Bond was actually extremely, almost worryingly, flippant.

Q knew precisely what had happened. Bond had not deigned to tell him yet, but Q was a very high-ranking MI6 officer; he knew precisely what happened to his agents at any and every given moment of the day and/or night, and he knew full well that James Bond had been sexually assaulted.

Honestly, Q was not a good person. He cared extremely little for matters of personal privacy, especially not when pertaining to people he cared about. Yes, he looked through the medical files, and had confirmation of the injury and just physically unwell he was; he would be eschewing solids for a while, had a limp that Q had to concede he was hiding unbelievably well.

He had no idea how to deal with it, however. Bond wouldn’t speak or acknowledge it, Q didn’t especially want to bring it up forcibly, but for god’s sake, he needed to be very careful with Bond if he didn’t want to cause some form of panic attack,  _especially_  when Bond’s panic attacks had the potential – and history – of being violent.

In bed together, and Bond made flippant excuses and lied through his teeth and slept on the sofa and didn’t have an issue kissing Q, loving him quite as normal. Almost as normal. Q ignored some of the twitches and jumps and flinches, and Bond pretended Q didn’t already know.

Q couldn’t keep on pretending. They couldn’t keep on lying to one another, it wasn’t sustainable.

“James…”

Bond let out a small sigh. “I know that tone. You want to ask me about it.”

Q was still, silent.

“Q, there isn’t much to say,” Bond told him honestly. “I was raped. It was… unpleasant. It’s also my job. I get hurt, I get tortured, I get injured. I’ll probably get killed, at some stage. I have to put the rest away somewhere, or I’ll go insane.”

For a moment, both parties were silent. “There’s an argument that suggests denying what happened is probably not the sanest of moves in any case.”

“I haven’t ‘denied’ it at any stage. I don’t have the freedom to be affected.”

Q felt his jaw clench with quiet anger, voice a low hiss: “Of course you’re  _bloody_ affected,” he stated blankly. “You’re  _affected_ , you just don’t want to talk about it or _admit_  you’re affected. You do it every time, James, and then we reach the panic-attack stage…”

“I do not have panic attacks.”

“What would you like me to call them?!”Q retorted, with livid disbelief. “Call them what you like, it doesn’t make you weak, it doesn’t make you a bad person, it makes you a  _fucking_  human being! Please, James. Talk to me.”

Bond just looked at him, expression quietly merciless. “You’re not exactly making me inclined to, the way you’re being now,” he told Q frankly, skating on the edges of being very dangerous indeed. “Leave it, Q. You’re in no position to tell me how I should respond.”

“But…”

“ _No_ ,” Bond repeated, more emphatically. “Leave it,  _now_ , or I’m going.”

Q felt himself freeze, very slightly. “James…”

“Last chance.”

Q stared at him. Bond stared back.

There seemed few options; Q dropped the subject, and waited – wearily – for the fallout.


	630. Chapter 630

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have a prompt: James discovers that Q has a girlfriend – anon

“Sorry, Q  _what_?!”

Bond couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d tried; it didn’t make sense, it didn’t make  _any_  sense, he’d been quietly and happily seducing his quartermaster for bloody weeks, trying to get to the right point where he could actually just get him on an actual date.

Eve raised an eyebrow eloquently. “He is allowed, you know,” she pointed out drily.

“But he’s…”

The eyebrow couldn’t have possibly got any higher, not in the slightest. “He’s what?”

A moment. Two. A few exhales. “I thought he was gay,” Bond said, sounding a little bit petulant around the edges. “And  _single_.”

Eve snorted. “He’s been with Harry for  _years_ , his brother’s boyfriend introduced them, if you can believe it,” she explained, through a laugh. “Lovely girl. Used to be a raging alcoholic, but Q rather put paid to that; he cares for her such a great deal, and I think she loves him, too.”

Bond was just  _gaping_. Q had been… he had been  _certain¸_  and apart from disappointed that he would never have the slightest chance with Q now, he couldn’t deny feeling a touch humiliated. “But… Q,” he managed, finishing a little limply.

Eve’s smile just about managed to avoid being actively unkind; she reached out, placed a gentle hand on his arm, placatory. “Probably a first for you,” she teased, eliciting a small smile from Bond. “We need to go get drunk somewhere, James Bond, and you can start getting over yourself.”

-

They wound up in a fairly small pub, which meant the bloody chances were astronomically slim, but that didn’t stop Fate deciding to have a laugh at Bond’s expense.

Q smiled, waved at Bond, who honestly debated suicide in that precise instant. “Q, you’re…”

“Harry, this is James and you know Eve,” Q said brightly, indicating the pair with happiness dancing in his eyes. “James – this is Harry, my girlfriend.”

Bond blinked, smiled as best he could. “Good to meet you,” he said, perfectly polite. “Drinks?”

“Diet coke for me,” Harry replied lightly, with a shadow Bond half-recognised.

“White wine.”

Bond couldn’t help a slight smirk; honestly, he couldn’t say he was surprised. “Eve?”

Eve was watching him, slightly sad, slightly contemplative, and Bond just looked straight back with an expression that forbad any commentary. “Gin and tonic will do me nicely,” she replied with a type of kindness, and watched Bond disappear while Q and Harry opened an enthusiastic dialogue on something she would later forget.


	631. Chapter 631

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What reason would James have to be undercover at a high school as a substitute teacher? Other then to follow his kids around lol I wanted to do a story where he goes undercover as a teacher but I couldn’t think of why lol — tobiismycat

The issue remained that Bond truly hated children. Truly and honestly hated them all. Especially teenagers, who – to him – epitomised everything wrong with the world as it stood, and everything wrong with the way it looked likely to develop. Teenagers needed to burn in hell.

There were some plus-points, however, to a mission that involved Bond having to teach in a rather rough secondary comp in a not-especially-nice area of London: that was, there was no point having  _only_  a teacher.

In short: criminal rings, all drugs related, using kids because they were free from the world of the penalties prison systems introduced (usually) and were excellent distributors. It was common knowledge that half the school were dealing, and many had graduated onto younger kids, quietly introducing a world of pre-pubescent boys and girls to a shady aspect of reality.

Bond was teaching history.

The plus-points – well, the  _single_  plus-point – was that the not-teacher aspect meant placing an agent undercover as a student.

M, in his infinite wisdom, chose Q.

-

“October,” Q replied, in a tone of tangible, drawling boredom.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Very good,” he returned, studiously ignoring the desk-full of girls who were swapping notes with his face and/or name and/or genitalia drawn over them. “Alright, that’s all of you done for the day, homework is on the board and if I don’t see it all, I will be extremely angry indeed. Go.”

Most were already gone. A few lingered, mostly to ask questions and generally enquire about their course; they seemed to care, on the whole, which was fairly nice. The rest just dispersed to set things on fire in peace, Bond assumed.

_Fucking teenagers_.

“Mr Bond?”

Q’s voice was utterly welcome. “Yes – Ben, is it?”

Q’s smile was on the edges of forced. “Yeah. I was just… about my coursework essay. I was thinking of something more modern than the rest, y’know, twenty-first century…”

“… not exactly history…”

“… or take it to ancient periods,” Q completed, with a spark in his expression that Bond was fairly fond of. “Anyway. I’m going to need help.”

“Come to the staff room at lunchtime, and we’ll see what we can do,” Bond replied, with a mocking ease that made the glint brighten slightly. “For now, I believe you have maths.”

Q gave a small grimace – Bond restrained a snort; the boy was well beyond sixth-form maths – and sidled away, not looking back.

This mission could be interesting.


	632. Chapter 632

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is such an awesome thing that you guys are doing. Seriously, i could browse and read this stuff ALL DAY LONG. So, every time I hear the song Love Love Love by Of Monsters and Men I think of 00Q. I can never decide if it should be one of those times where Q (or Bond) really is that emotionally constipated or if it is just that they have been hurt too many times and are afraid to love again. Either way, the more angst the better. Is that maybe a thing that could happen? Thanks! – medievaldreamerbones

Q’s eyes were laden with apology and simple sadness, the type that Bond couldn’t work out how to alleviate and had a strong suspicion would never be alleviated; this was Q, this was just a little sideways facet of Q, the fact that he simply didn’t seem to feel in that sort of way for anybody.

It was not to say that he didn’t try, or that he didn’t wish to. However: something had been wired sideways in his brain, a very long time ago, and he had stopped trying to jump the fault. He survived on emotional reticence and anger, spitting back anybody who tried to touch him or come too close.

Bond, meanwhile, everybody had expected to be scarred and damaged. Q had definitely been certain of that. It didn’t make sense that he would be perfectly emotionally functional, it was James Bond, he slept with people and killed in the same breath and that was fine, that was him, and that could have been Q in a life a heartbeat from this one.

No; James Bond had issues with falling in love, with being in love. With speaking love in long sentences and beautiful words, coaxing Q into affection and intimacy without Q even realising until it was too late that Bond felt more than he initially believed was possible.

Because it was James Bond, and because Q couldn’t love at the best of times, let alone the worst.

Of course, that didn’t quite dissuade him. It wasn’t a ‘no’, it was more a case of ‘can’t and won’t’, so Bond found the elastic edges of that and decided to run with it in the vague hope that he might wind up with Q regardless.

“You don’t have to love me,” he pointed out, with a touch of exasperation. “Q, I just love being around you, and the rest can come or go. As it is, you’re avoiding me…”

… am not…”

“… because you’re frightened it means something more than it does,” Bond completed firmly. “Just friends, if you can’t do anything more. If you can’t do a relationship, it’s all fine, I just don’t want to lose you altogether.”

Q looked at him. Just looked, for a long moment, stared as though the man would vanish, stared as though he was alien and Q had no idea what to do with him whatsoever. “But…” he managed, trailing slightly. “Isn’t that disappointing?”

Bond chuckled slightly, and winced inwardly at it as he saw Q’s expression close in further. “I’m not laughing at you,” he said quickly. “It’s just – yes, it’s disappointing in a sense, but it’s… Q, you’re a good friend, and I don’t want to lose you. That’s the beginning and end of it.”

Q’s smile was small, almost shy. “You sure?” he murmured.

Bond’s fingers closed over Q’s, and he nodded. “Sure,” he confirmed, and saw a glint at the edges of Q’s smile that he loved more than he could say.


	633. Chapter 633

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for you lovely ladies! (Your stories always make me so happy.) Angsty prompt: Q and Bond have been in a committed relationship, but Q makes a mistake and gets caught cheating. He and Bond act completely professional at MI6, but when Q-Branch finds out that James is now in a serious relationship with a doctor from Medical Q finally breaks down and cries. – anon

It wasn’t as though he had a leg to stand on. Q tried to plead and tried to apologise, but Bond’s trust had shattered the moment he saw Q in bed with another man, and now there was not enough left of a relationship to make it work.

They were grown-ups, and so Q let him go, and tried to avoid making everything they were turn horrifically toxic. They went into work and were polite and remembered how to laugh, and that was enough because it had to be and they had no other choices by this stage.

God, though, Q had never imagined that Bond would really move on. It was inevitable – of course it was – but it was  _wrong_ , Bond should have been with him and stayed with him and it would eventually heal and they would look at one another across rooms and be sad and lonely  _together_  until Bond learned to forgive him.

Only, he never did.

The rumour mill was horrifically efficient.

Q had expected that Bond would return to the more steady and predictable world of women, maybe, if he did,  _if_  he did, which Q had been praying again and again and again that he wouldn’t, that he would keep hold of Q  _in spite of_  his stupidity and his indiscretion and good god, he didn’t know how to live without Bond.

Only when the news hit did Q realised just  _how_  much he needed Bond.

The rumours reached, and Q found himself scanning through internal cameras, trying to find evidence, heart skipping in his throat with nauseating immediacy and no,  _no_ , Bond couldn’t be with somebody else.

Only, he was.

And Q  _knew_  that look, the look in Bond’s eyes when he glanced over a man Q didn’t know but hated all the same.

Tears, half-hysteria, rose and swamped with startling speed and efficiency.

Within a moment or two, Q had excused himself, disappearing to the further reaches of Q-branch, collapsing into a strange contorted heap and collapsing into horrified, desperate sobs, the force racking his body as he remembered the touch of Bond’s fingers and the warmth bleeding into his skin, and the look in Bond’s eyes that was no longer for him alone.


	634. Chapter 634

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond finds out Q is dating on his minions (a much younger man) - he can’t understand why because they seem to have so many problems in their relationship but Q explains it’s because he was always the younger one in the relationship + now he wants to be the older one. – jaynedolluk

It was so soon after they’d split. That was the hardest aspect of it; Bond couldn’t help the sense that he was somehow deeply inadequate and so the party that had caused the problems, feeling wrong somehow, and Q still smiled at him and still cared for him in the gentle but present way Q had, and that was the worst part of all.

“Stop making this about you,” Q berated, with a touch of gentleness that was very welcome indeed. “James, I told you: it’s about what I want from a relationship, how I interact with somebody else, it’s just… please, don’t get like this.”

Bond was a little too still, a little too angular. “I’m not like anything,” he returned, with a defensiveness that Q couldn’t help but find quite amusing. “Alright: why? I thought you didn’t…”

“I just don’t want to be the child any more,” Q overran, stalling Bond mid-speech.

Bond was quiet. Looked at Q, waiting for an explanation.

“James, I’ve always been younger,” Q dutifully began, expression gently apologetic. “Always. All of my relationships, I’ve been somebody to look after, somebody fragile, and I just can’t do it now. I’m an adult, and actually, I’d quite like to be able to look after somebody myself; Jack’s a bit younger than me, and it’s not very obvious, but there are times when I can just feel… older. More experienced. I’m really tired of being underestimated in all areas, I can’t have it in a relationship too.”

Bond could honestly say he was speechless. “Q, that’s not just about biological age, that’s… why didn’t you  _talk to me_  about it?!”

Q twitched a very small, very slight smile. “Would it have helped?” he asked rhetorically, and sighed slightly.

Bond didn’t speak.

“You know we hadn’t been working together,” Q told him gently, apologetically. “I care about you tremendously, but I can’t keep being looked after. You’re just not the type of person who deals well with not being in control, you certainly can’t be vulnerable…”

“I don’t…”

“…  _that_  isn’t the problem, per se. It’s that you cannot open yourself up, and that’s good for some people but not for me, I need to feel equal. I need to feel like I can trust you with my secrets and you’ll trust me with yours. I’m sorry, James, I really am.”

There was nothing more to be said.

Bond had never been angry, so disappointed, in his life.

He left.


	635. Chapter 635

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old married 00Q pls – anon

“That’s for Lily,” Q said sharply, batting Bond’s hand away, watching Bond snort slightly, other hand caressing the personalised gun he always had – and always would – carry about his person.

Bond was the oldest double-oh agent in history. Sixty-four, and still very much going strong; he had several bullet wounds and the aftermath of a lifetime of hurts, but MI6 had clocked the usefulness of a far older agent: Bond still went on missions, ones tailored for his age and specialities.

Q was the Quartermaster. He would remain as such until the day he died.

Lily, meanwhile, was working for the UN, in a diplomatic context; her allegiances were firmly with her home, but international relations had always been her speciality, and she was an excellent person to send in given that she could happily go undercover, or openly, and still look after herself if things went to hell.

They had reached a gentle and very honest form of domesticity. Bond cooked, because god knew Q still couldn’t, even after years of tutelage. Q occasionally threw clothing into the washing. Very rarely, though, because he had no idea of what could or couldn’t be tumble-dried and Bond didn’t trust him with clothing any more, really. Q, meanwhile, could rewire plugs in his sleep and fixed the TV. He had a flair for interior design that made Bond laugh for about two days at one stage.

The pair had lived in the same flat for a long while, and it suited them. Close to work, far away from noisy people, private and comfortable and  _theirs_. Lily had grown up, moved out. The carpet was still stained from her first drunken night out, Q still kept a memory box of everything from her childhood, Bond carried a seashell in his wallet that she had picked up on the beach when she was about seven.

“Bolognaise, and I’m putting some in the freezer for while I’m away,” Bond told him, as Q wended his way into the kitchen to look over the saucepan; the latter slid his hand over Bond’s, smiling very slightly at the wrinkles that still continued to deepen, lines etching out a life they’d managed to mostly share with one another.

When Bond kissed him, Q still could feel twenty-something and delirious, breathless.

When Q kissed Bond, the latter still felt the terror of a world falling from under his feet, knowing with perfect certainty that Q would catch him.

“Love you,” Bond told him, with easy familiarity.

Q grinned, eyes still bright as the day Bond had met him. “Love you, too.”


	636. Chapter 636

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I love your writing :D do you think you could write something about James managing to convince Q to play naked hide and seek (like in torchwood with Jack and Ianto) and Q thinks it’s a really stupid idea at first but after playing it, realises that he actually really enjoys it and wants to do it again, please? I’d be so happy if you could so it for me - thank you so much :) – anon

“…so really, the sole aim of this is just… well, I’m not even sure. Am I missing the point? We play a children’s game, just with some curious sexual allegory…”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Not merely allegory, I fully intend to have sex,” he corrected, making Q roll his eyes elaborately. “It’s  _fun_ , Q. No, it’s not highbrow or intelligent or has much of a big  _point_ , but it’s fun, and I’d like it.”

There was something about Bond’s tone of voice in those moments that made Q fall very, very hard for him. He seemed compelling and dominant all at once, insistent but petulant and very beautiful indeed, and Q felt his resolve sag and loosen and entirely fall away within a handful of minutes.

Which was how Q wound up naked in MI6, cameras shorted and most doors locked, hiding in a cupboard.

The adrenaline was surging beyond all belief; Q couldn’t quite believe how  _exciting_  it was, to find oneself giggling behind a door while waiting for somebody to find him, stark naked, the adrenaline conspiring with the remembrance that  _Bond was naked too_ , and his cock twitching with mostly unapologetic interest.

Q found himself debating wanking off, but held fire given that Bond would hopefully arrive fairly soon.

_Fuck,_ but the man could creep up.

Q let out a startled, strangled yell, and half-fell out of said cupboard, bouncing off Bond’s embrace before being pinned against the wall and kissed senseless, mind deteriorating with startling rapidity as the blood rushed manically to his cock.

Bond was a half-step behind him in arousal terms, but seemed to be catching up: Q ground a bit, Bond letting out a strangled noise of unapologetic want before his hands ravished Q’s body quite thoroughly, skin against skin, Q’s erection digging into the planes of Bond’s ridiculously formed abdomen while Bond grew hard beneath him. “ _Fuck_.”

“Good idea, then?” Bond growled, kissing over Q’s throat.

Q gasped out breath, and managed little more than a nod.


	637. Chapter 637

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love the Q meeting the other top hackers. A lot of fix have Silva with the upper hand in these but can we maybe have it where Q figures out what’s up but plays along. Then when Silva lets them go he tells M and he’s able to stop Silva before or during Skyfall since Silva didn’t know he worked for them. Just want something we’re MI6 gets the best of him early. Maybe some 00Q too. Sorry it is too big for the ask. Love y’all!!! — teamks

The tension was drawn through Q’s body in eloquent lines, preparing him for any and all eventualities – and he was definitely anticipating them all. Every possibility, every potential of thought, was being planned for.

“I think we’re ready,” he said quietly, with absolute calm, eyes steadily watching agent Bond; Bond liked him, Q could read it in the similarly etched lines of his own form, waiting, wondering, a heartbeat from their end. “Final chance for questions or ideas, ladies and gentlemen.”

There was quiet. Everybody was ready.

“In which case,” Q told them, letting out a breath, and brandishing what looked intriguingly like an Ethernet cable, “let’s go.”

The computer was plugged in, and there was a moment wherein everybody in Q-branch seemed to hold their breath, waiting for something. Anything. “Oh, now,” Q murmured, as numbers and letters crept over the screen. “That is  _pretty_.”

Bond wasn’t quite sure  _what_  it was, but he loved Q’s expression as he looked over it. “What are we looking for?”

“Codeword. Probably something fairly emphatic, and/or sarcastic,” Q returned, with a gleam that spoke of a worrying level of satisfaction. This was Q’s domain, this was what he knew and could work with. “Shout if you notice a full word of any description. Once we’re in, the hack will technically fall into place. Everybody?”

Bond was the one who found it, in the end.

The smile Q shot at him was exquisite.

Downstairs, Raoul Silva was standing, shifting.

“Here we go,” Q breathed, and grinned, computer screens bouncing light off his glasses, electric and terrifyingly alive and  _perfect_ , he was  _beautiful_ , typing with perfect precision as a map sprawled out across the screen, disconnecting the cable and isolating the virus, destroying its remnants with several neat taps.

A long exhale.

Bond was fairly aroused.

Downstairs, Silva looked vaguely confused. His time estimates were clearly off.

“Let’s see what we have, hmm?” Q continued, and continued work on Silva’s computer, bringing up files with embarrassing ease, unravelling the codes, the constructions, that Silva had created.


	638. Chapter 638

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this is horribly overdone, but maybe depressed/eating disorder!Q where Bond (who is usually the Dom) has a really bad mission and needs to be a sub for an extended period of time, like a month or two. And Q, who is unused to being dominant, gets really depressed and upset but hides it from Bond so that the older man doesn’t feel bad. Q just wants to help James. – anon

Q was incredibly tired. That was the primary issue, somewhat bizarrely; the rest was manageable, but the tiredness seeped into his body and soul and lingered there like a cancer, eating away at his will, his resolve, his want.

He loved Bond more than anything in the world. He wanted his partner to be  _happy_ , at the end of the day, and Bond needed him so badly.

The tiredness remained perpetually, and Q kept going. He had to keep going. He had his loyalties and his love and his  _everything_  and jesus, but he couldn’t handle another night of being in control of everything, of making every decision, of having that ridiculous and awful and unmanageable sense that he could change everything with a flick of his wrist and a few words. He  _hated it_.

It would end. Q told himself that, repeatedly. Eventually his Bond would be back, and all of it would be over; he could just exist and be a sub again, Bond’s sub, feel warm with his dominant’s hand on the back of his neck and holding him so tightly he could bruise. It wasn’t the sex he missed, not in the slightest; just that. Just a squeeze to know he was owned, protected, and  _wanted_.

Q had no idea how Bond did it.

Time continued to tick, and Q kept needing, and Bond kept needing, and Bond needed him more so Q obliged, but he couldn’t sleep very well any more and kept desperately wanting things to go back to normal.

The stress became too much. He vomited through sheer tiredness and stress, and found the feeling vaguely useful. He did it again. His brain fuzzed a little. Getting out of bed became a little trickier.

Of course, Q hadn’t counted on one thing: James bloody Bond, and the fact that he loved Q too much not to notice that he was fading away.

“Q. Talk to me.”

There was something about the imperative that made Q finally, abruptly shatter. “James, I can’t do this any more,” he said, and burst into tears.

Bond was actively, openly horrified. Q didn’t cry. He didn’t break down, not like this.

In an instant, Q was folded into Bond’s arms, so tight Q could swear it bruised and he didn’t  _care_ , he’d missed it more than he could express. “Q.  _Q_. It’s okay. It’s okay, listen to me. I’m so sorry.  _Tell me_ , if you’re unhappy, that’s how this  _works_. This can’t work if you’re not telling the truth.”

Q was past the point of true coherency.

Bond just held onto him, hand snaking to the back of his neck, feeling the tension drain of Q’s body as he kissed his forehead very gently.


	639. Chapter 639

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I please have a one-sided relationship with Bond pining after Q from Eve’s perspective? Thank you very much! – anon

Bond was not somebody Eve had ever imagined would ‘pine’ – and yet, there was really no other word to describe him.

Lovesick teenager syndrome had struck with a vengeance: Bond couldn’t stop talking about him, sighed slightly, had a strangely melancholic look his eyes now and then, and did the staring-into-the-distance thing that was somewhere between annoying and endearing.

Honestly, Eve just wanted to slap him, or get somebody into bed with him. Preferably soon, so either the infatuation would end or he would get the nerve to speak to Q properly.

“James Bond, if you do not talk to Q  _imminently_ , I swear I’m going to shoot you again,” Eve told him sharply. “I can’t keep watching this, you’re doing my head in. Talk to him,  _now_ , and get it over with. The worst he can do is say no.”

“But  _what if he says no_?”

Eve blinked at him, absolutely incredulous. “Have you  _seen_  you?”

“It’s not just about how I look.”

Honestly, Bond seemed to have undergone some perverse form of personality transplant. Eve was rendered speechless for a moment or so, gaping inelegantly. “Christ,” she managed, eventually. “You’ve really fallen for him.”

Bond’s expression became rather guarded, all of a sudden. “Haven’t.”

“ _Have_. Bond,  _go talk to him_.”

“I  _can’t_.”

“Why in the hell not?!”

Bond was practically pouting, and Eve was resisting the urge to slap him. Again. James Bond didn’t suit petulance.

“I don’t want him to say no.”

Eve was sensing a circular argument. “And if you’re pining from a distance.”

“I’m not pining.”

“You are.”

“I’m  _not_.”

“Tell him, or I’ll tell him myself,” Eve threatened.

Ace. Bond looked completely sideswiped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

“I hate you,” Bond grumbled, and sighed. “You think I should?”

Eve rolled her eyes skywards, incredulous.  _“Yes_.”

Bond growled at her slightly, and sloped his way towards Q-branch, muttering darkly under his breath about Eve as he did so.


	640. Chapter 640

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello ladies! :) In my headcanon MI6 is some kind of big family where everyone’s got the others’ back. For example, M appreciates Q because he is reliable and useful, Eve feels towards him like a big sister, the minions are awed at his brilliance, and all the double-ohs know that, even if he is not in the field, he hears unwaveringly through quite horrid things (torture, people getting shot, beatings of sorts…) and he is always there, caring for them. So, wouldn’t they get a wee bit overprotective, each in his own way, if some other agency tried to steal him? ;) [00Q and BAMF!Alec if it pleases you!] thank you for being awesome! — fridatwin

Q loved MI6 more than anything in the world, and there was nothing that would even begin to compel him to ever leave. He was settled, happy, and surrounded by people who would near enough end earths for him.

That didn’t mean they wouldn’t get chronically furious should anybody attempt to poach him. “CIA this time,” Alec said, simmering with anger on Q and everybody’s behalf. “Everybody activate.”

M was on the phone in a heartbeat, Eve was filling out forms and furiously typing emails off to a host of people, Tanner was quietly destroying people’s lives, and the double-ohs were – en masse – making mincemeat of the usually amicable relations between the UK and US.

“All of you – have we had a scout?!” Q asked incredulously, after a very frightened CIA agent gave him absolutely everything he had asked for. In order. Without any quibbles. “They’re being  _lovely_.”

Bond grinned, leonine. “Of course,” he said smugly. “We’re not letting you get poached, Q. You should know that.”

“I  _do_  know that. I just don’t see the need to terrorise people in saying no.”

“It was Tanner this time,” Bond informed Q happily, watching Q’s eyes widen with no small degree of satisfaction. “Oh yeah. He completely destroyed the CIA agent who was trying. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be on paperwork until the end of time.”

_“James_.”

Bond snorted. “Blame Tanner,” he stated, hands raised. “M was complicit. He helped. Senior CIA should know now that you’re offlimits.”

Q rolled his eyes elaborately, letting Bond slide arms around him, kiss his forehead gently. “Thank you, I think.”

“Love you.”

A grin, another kiss, this time dropped onto Bond’s lips. “Love you, too.”


	641. Chapter 641

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q prompt: Q is a little bit afraid of James Bond, but that’s ok, because a little bit of fear turns him on. And James knows it. (Sorry this is so vague! I love reading your stuff. :) ) – anon

Bond prowled, his body moving in sleek, well-practiced motion. He could enter a room, bringing with him an air of cool and collected unease. Not a man to be taken lightly, under any circumstance.

Q dreaded and longed for their meetings in equal measure.

Bond’s eyes would flick to his, narrowing slightly at Q’s chastisement for one thing or another and in that moment Q would feel his heart catch in his chest.

Bond’s eyes were heavy on him, a casual understanding passing between them that the man could kill him in a heartbeat if he so wished. Q swallowed, looking at his watch. Bond was due in any minute, his latest debrief just having finished. Doubtless there would be little (if anything) left of his equipment, leaving Q with a perfect excuse to lay into that man.

To feel breath stop. Heart rushing.

It was intoxicating almost, like all those ridiculous teen romance novels where dimwitted young females held out their necks to carnivorous beasts.

Q shuddered delectably at  _that_  thought - Bond’s presence alone was enough to elicit a shiver, but the idea of the man going for his throat, teeth grazing along arteries with a fizzle of gooseflesh, well…

That was just an awkward erection.

Bond entered a few minutes later, his blue gaze sweeping the room, taking in Q’s hunched form over his desk.

"Quartermaster," he greeted, voice smooth as he approached the desk.

Q smirked, willing blood elsewhere, unable to believe how even Bond’s  _voice_  was loaded. “007”.

Bond reached into his pocket, handing over a few twisted bits of metal, one eyebrow raised. “There was an…incident,” he informed the younger man,  Q eyeing the remains of what was once quite an attractive Walther. There was something in the way Bond could say ‘incident’ that conjured up a feeling that perhaps it had been the agent himself responsible for it; that somehow Bond had  _enjoyed_  turning Q’s creations into scrap metal.

"Is that so?" Q replied coolly. "Well, I’m sure you won’t mind writing up a detailed account of quite what happened to a small portion of my monthly budget then?"

Bond grinned. “If I must,” he replied, inclining his head slightly, eyes not leaving Q’s.

Q watched as his fingers traced the desk, finding the latest prototype he had been working on. “This is nice…” Bond murmured, lifting the gun with delicate ease. “Very nice indeed.”

"Yes, well it’s not for you," Q spluttered, watching as Bond cocked the gun, fingers sliding obscenely across it.

Bond was smirking unashamedly now, expression shifting as he clicked all things into place; Q’s flush, the vaguely erratic breath. “No? But it fits my hand so well.”

Bond took his cue: moving forward, he placed the tip of the barrel to Q’s throat. “I think it fits perfectly in fact.”

Bond tilted his head upwards. “Oh  _god_ ,” Q breathed.

"Don’t you agree?" Bond asked, finger just resting on the trigger.

Q completely lost the ability to breathe.

"I, erm, I just…" Q managed, before Bond cut him off with a punishing kiss.


	642. Chapter 642

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi! i have thought of this after re-watching skyfall. what if eve didn’t hit him and he fell on purpose? if you could do something were he confesses to Q and eve and they get really mad.. a little like sherlock and john in s3 :D hope you will do it.. – nann7970

Q’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry,” Bond told him, very hesitatingly. “Forgive me? I never meant  _harm_ , I just…”

It seemed as though Q was fairly likely to just outright punch him. “You absolute  _bastard_ , James Bond. Tell Eve.  _Now_. She deserved –  _deserves_  – a hell of a lot better. Go. Right now.”

Eve  _did_  punch him.

Honestly, Bond utterly deserved it. “You let me believe I killed you,” Eve hissed, livid and frighteningly so, and Q was reminded that her shooting had improved exponentially in the light of Bond’s ‘death’. “You  _fuck_. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t… fuck. I cannot believe you.  _Why_?!”

“Good question,” Q supplemented.

Bond didn’t speak, and looked in serious danger of getting another punch. “I don’t know,” he said eventually.

Both Q and Eve watched him, speechless.

It was less of Q’s problem, if he was quite honest – but he had always been close to Eve, and she had been truly destroyed by killing James Bond. Bond had been a friend, a close colleague, and killing is hard enough without it involving a close friend.

“You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that,” she snapped. “Try again.”

Bond’s expression was moving into something apologetic now, mercifully, but his words remained the same: “Honestly, I don’t know. I just… I was on the train, and I couldn’t do it any more. Too old, too battered. It was practically on impulse.”

Eve shook her head slightly, disbelievingly. “You were in the  _middle_  of chasing down a target. You chose  _then_?!”

“I’m sorry,” Bond repeated. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I never meant to hurt you, Eve, I didn’t think you would blame yourself. I actually thought it would be classed closer to suicide than your shooting me.”

“ _I was on desk duty for six months_!”

Bond remained looking studiously repentant. “Eve, you… I’m sorry. Q, I’m sorry too. Please, both of you, believe that I would never do that again. I couldn’t do that to you, with the way things are…”

“… and we’re to believe that how, exactly?” Q asked, with stinging rhetoric. “Not exactly a compelling argument, under the circumstances.”

“I have too much to stay for.”

It was directed at Q.

Q gaped a little.

Eve looked spectacularly unimpressed.

“I’m still livid,” she warned Bond. “I’m going to make your life hell for a while.”

Bond’s mouth twitched in a very slight smile. “I expected nothing less,” he said with a slight bow, and let Eve storm off, Q remaining behind with a still-stunned expression painted on otherwise eloquent features.


	643. Chapter 643

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I was wondering if you could do a 00Q prompt for me, where Q doesn’t much care for Moneypenny (he just generally hates people and she’s one of them), and she absolutely hates Q because he’s the one who made Bond fall in love again, when she wanted it to be her? Thank you! Xxxxx – optimisticstorm

Q spoke in something of a reluctant drawl when around Moneypenny; she was just wearisome after a point, with her slight whining and her tangible contempt for Q. Really, Q was the type to give as good as he got; in Eve’s case, he was met with dislike, and had very few issues in reciprocating.

They could barely speak to one another without some barb or other rearing its ugly head.

Bond just found it very tiring to be around. He was in love with Q, and a close friend to Eve; it would have been generally preferable if the two could at least manage to stay in the same room as one another without the risk of mass murder.

“Moneypenny,” Q said, with a frostiness that nobody could really ignore.

Eve certainly couldn’t; they had reached a stage where one another’s animosity simply perpetuated the problem. “Q,” she returned. “Have you actually completed your paperwork, or are one of you beleaguered staff trying to deal with it?”

“Hmm, I didn’t know you knew that word,” Q returned with quiet mockery. “Is there anything you need, or are you here to pick a fight?”

Moneypenny rolled her eyes. “You began the insults,” she returned drily. “I have some missives from M that need dealing with.”

Q extended an imperious hand.

From the other end of Q-branch, Bond watched with quiet disbelief; the pair were getting worse by the day, and honestly, he was getting rather bored of watching the incessant sniping.

He crossed Q-branch, sliding forward so he practically in between the two of them. “Alright,” he said simply, closing the office door from the curious eyes of the minions. “Both of you. You have to sort out whatever the hell it is that is making you both act like petulant teenagers.”

“I’m  _not_ ,” Q retorted, in a voice that was mostly a whine.

Bond raised an eyebrow, and Moneypenny snorted. “That’s you too, Eve.”

“It’s just a personality disagree,” she said, with as much tact as she could muster.

Q shot her a lethal grin. “That, and the fact that you’re desperately jealous that I’m with James,” he said primly.

The silence was absolute.

“That,” Eve murmured, “was unnecessary.”

Bond had practically frozen. Q looked somewhere between smug and mortified.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, eyes darting from one to the other. “I didn’t… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be cruel.”

Eve let out a slow breath, and smiled lightly at Bond. “He’s right,” she conceded simply. “I…” she twisted to Q. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Q returned. “I’m just shit with people, honestly… fuck.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him elegantly, and slipped out of the office before Bond or Q could say another word.


	644. Chapter 644

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'this isn't over' does that mean you'll be continuing the Q gets more women prompt?? Please do! – ohvitamea

Q grinned like starlight, and Bond had no words for just how much he wanted to kill or possibly screw the young man.

“I take it my prowess in bed came as something of a shock?” he mocked without much mercy or apology. “Don’t take it personally – I just like sex, and don’t really see the point in long-term relationships. Women are beautiful creatures, and…”

“… I know,” Bond intervened, before Q could continue slowly decimating his self esteem. “I’m surprised, though. Thought you’d be…”

“… Gay?” Q completed, with a wry smirk. “I’m not sure what gave you that idea beyond really troublesome stereotypes, but as it happens – yes, I do occasionally dabble with men. I always consider variety the spice of life, as they say…”

Bond blinked, simply in shock for a little while as some of his preconceptions went out of the window with unholy speed, and he tried to realign things with minimal success. “How often do you, well…”

“Dabble?”

A patented Bond smirk: “Precisely.”

Q, to his frustration, seemed entirely unfazed by said smirk. “Intermittently. I’ll keep you posted. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I have work to do.”

Bond realised he had just been bloody  _dismissed_ , and left feeling disgruntled and rather unfulfilled.

-

“How about dinner, then?”

Q glanced up, sighed slightly. “I have a night out planned. You’re going to have to wait,” he said primly, and shooed Bond out of his office once again.

-

“I’m in a dabbling mood,” Q said absentmindedly.

Bond looked at him. Truly looked.

Q glanced up at him, and grinned, all teeth.

Bond was devouring him in a kiss a moment later.


	645. Chapter 645

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *peeks head in* uhm hullo, I’d like a prompt where Q teaches Bond how to knit (because it calms him down when he’s very stressed) and they end up getting together because of their knitting sessions? *holds out internet cookie* - anon

“… I dropped a stitch.”

Q smiled, and gently, carefully, showed Bond again the way to carefully knit a scarf; it was probably the most useful thing Bond would be able to learn for the time being, and Q really enjoyed the extremely rhythmical aspects of scarves. It became habit, routine, with surprising speed.

Bond loved watching Q knit, oddly. There was something entrancing about the speed of movement, the careful way Q’s hands and fingers could tuck in and out and around, entrancing in its brilliance and practised efficiency. “You’re beautiful,” Bond commented at one stage.

Q glanced up, a little speechless, and blushed, his fingers still working reflexively and skin a gentle pink. “Thank you,” he returned, with as much dignity as he could muster, returning attention to his cardigan. “I, erm… what brought that on?”

“You, when you’re knitting,” Bond told him honestly, as Q’s fingers danced; it was like watching him work. Not quite as good, but very close; in work, Q’s fingers would be electricity, and his expression all fire and eloquence and angles Bond could only begin to follow, breath catching in his throat as he watched somebody extraordinary do extraordinary things, something they loved, something so much a part of them that it extended from every part of their body and could intoxicate all of those around. “You just… there’s a calm to it.”

Equally true; the settled calm of Q’s body was just as beautiful, but in a different way. This was the type that made Bond want to settle with the man and never let time run, to simply watch him and learn, let Q’s voice gently correct mistakes he may or may not have been making on purpose, just to hear Q’s voice, feel the eloquence of fingers on his hands as they guided, taught.

Q smiled eloquently. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Bond put his passable attempt a scarf to one side, and moved closer, kneeling in front of Q’s chair, letting Q’s eyes find him. “Q,” Bond breathed, sensual and intimate, and Q’s hands were moving but every other part of his body seemed paralysed. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“Yes,” Q replied, without hesitation.

Bond was so surprised by the speed of response that he was temporarily completely sideswiped.

It didn’t help when Q leaned in, and pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to Bond’s lips.

Never, in all of his life, had Bond been quite so  _surprised_  by another human being.

Honestly, he really, truly  _liked_  it.


	646. Chapter 646

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you know there is a football player named Tiago Silva? I just found out and it made me think : what if bond played against silva and q was a commentor and they had a thing? Love u bbs ! U are my champions – hiddlehunk

England truly did not have the best reputation. They had the legacy of 1966, and the creation of the damn sport – but times had been rough in recent years. Sod-all wins, and most of the ones they had down to their best player; James Bond, number 07, was brilliant but nearing retirement.

Spain, meanwhile, were the reigning world champions.

The men poured onto the pitch, crowd roaring as they came out.

Bond smiled; this was his home. He had begun in Scotland, playing in junior leagues until his parents had forced him down into London. Swiftly scooped up by a London under-18’s, he had only kept on going, kept crawling ever higher. Now, he was the headliner.

Ultimately, the game wasn’t a complete disaster. In fact, losing only 3-2 was better than most people had hoped for.

The disaster came afterwards.

"My my, it has been a long time."

Bond rolled his eyes, swiftly pulling on his shirt. “What do you want, Silva?” he asked, attempting some form of civility with the Spanish player.

"Can’t I say hello to an old friend?" Silva mocked, pulling Bond into an awkward hug and placing a lavish kiss on his cheek. The pair had played side by side for a short while, until Silva transferred – best bloody thing to ever happen – to the Spanish.

To put it mildly, Silva and Bond had never gotten on.

Bond smiled tightly, inclining his head as he grabbed his bag. “Hello.”

"I was hoping I could buy you a drink? It’s the least I can do after…" Silva trailed off, and gave a pointed look to the rest of his teammates in a way that made Bond’s blood simmer.

Bond was inches away from a very pithy retort, when:

"James?"

Silva turned; this time, it was Bond’s turn to smirk. ‘Q’ as he was affectionately named (something to do with the difficulty of his post-match questioning) was approaching them; pale, slim, and with a thick mop of messy dark hair. The literal antithesis of the hulking males surrounding him, and all the more beautiful for it.

"Hello love," Bond smirked, holding out his arm for Q to slide under. "I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ve met…"

Silva was gaping in undisguised jealousy. “I have not had the pleasure…”

"Q," Q cut him off shortly, without waiting for much more of a response; he had little patience for the Spaniard himself, given the way he reportedly treated interviewers. "James, I’ve got the table booked - are you going to be long?"

“Oh no, I was just leaving,” Bond replied, as Q smiled. “How did it look from up there?”

"Stunning, you were robbed," Q replied with a light smirk.

"I assume you said as much?" Bond asked

Silva’s turned progressively colder, as Q continued quite blithely: “Naturally,” he commented, before twisting to Silva, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure you all did your best…”

"But the BBC know the truth," Bond finished, kissing Q’s hair. "Come on, I’m starving. So nice to catch up," he finished, Silva’s hands balling in rage.


	647. Chapter 647

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a fic where Q is sick with the cold or flu, works himself half to death and James ends up having to take him home? Q then feels incredibly guilty but James is so kind and so gentle with the ailing quartermaster than he eventually calms down and gets the rest he so desperately needs. – anon

Q eventually exhausted himself to the extent that he simply vomited. Stress and tiredness and a damned cold; he was coughing half the time, and halfway through a coughing fit lost control of the last of his bodily functions and near enough passed out. Not his most elegant moment, it had to be said.

“We’re going home,” Bond told him firmly; Q didn’t actually have the wherewithal to argue at all, and instead let Bond lead him out of the office, into a car, drive him home. He could barely stand, let alone do anything useful; Bond had to practically carry him upstairs to their flat.

Installed in bed with a very large hot toddy with a liberal amount of whiskey, Q couldn’t stop frenetically apologising. “I just couldn’t stop, I had so much to do, and I’m sorry James, I didn’t mean to make you worry…”

“Love, calm down.”

“But you…”

Bond gave up on trying to reason with the quartermaster, and instead just slid under the covers with Q, drawing him close; Q was still mumbling barely-audible apologies, fingers closing around Bond’s shirt, yawning into it and sniffling snottily. “M’tired.”

“I gathered,” Bond replied fondly, sliding Q’s body downwards gently, getting the duvet up around him. “Sleep.”

“Don’t go!”

Never had Q sounded quite so bereft; Bond restrained a smirk, and ran a thumb over Q’s temple in gentle, repetitive motions. “Not going anywhere.”

Q sneezed slightly, let out a small whine, and burrowed back into Bond’s chest. “Promise?” he mumbled.

“Promise. I’ll be here.”

Q was out like a light.


	648. Chapter 648

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was that prompt about Alec and Eve pushing James and Q together as a couple… if you were to continue it, can they repeatedly drop (very cheesy and not so subtle) innuendos about it but it turns out Q and/or Bond is asexual so they just laugh it off and decide to play along by messing with the other two and/or the rest of MI6? – yuquiche

“Okay, this has to stop.”

Q had officially reached the end of his tether. It was in jest, of course it was, but it got a little bit wearing to have perpetual jokes about when he was finally going to show Bond who was a more impressive lover, making penis jokes in general, making weird and slightly psychotic purring noises when the pair were around, joking around  _constantly_ , and Q just snapped a little bit.

Eve and Alec both looked a little bit amused. “Methinks the man doth protest too…”

“I’m asexual,” Q told them, a touch sharply. “So  _yes_ , I protest. I have no damned interest in sex, with Bond or with anybody else, so please, for the love of all things, desist?”

Both of them looked fairly horrified for a moment: “Well. That explains it,” Alec grinned. “Oops. Sorry, Q.”  
“ _If_  you were…”

Q raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little like asking a fruit whether it would like to be an orange: bizarre, irrelevant, and impossible to answer,” he returned drily.

“Not your best metaphor.”

“I was thinking on the spot, it could have been worse,” Q told Eve primly, before grinning. “It’s alright, both of you, I’m not offended – just lay off?”

Both smiled back, nodded. Alec even offered a playful salute.

-

“Q, would you like to go out to dinner?”

Q couldn’t help a small sigh; this had to stop. All of this had to stop. “Bond, surely,  _surely_  Eve and Alec communicated the message?”

Bond, for some inexplicable reason, was smiling: “Yes. They did. Which is why I’m here.”

“Then you’re aware that I have  _no interest_  in sex with you?!” Q asked, aggravation staining his tone. “I know this has been an excellent longterm joke, but this is getting unfair on me now, it’s all at my bloody expense…”

Bond raised a hand, placating. “Q – I’m asking because I  _don’t_  want sex. I would like to take you out to dinner. I would like to know you more. I would like to maybe kiss, and not much further than that. My job contains quite enough sex, and I have to admit it’s all acquired some negative connotations. Sex stopped being about communication or intimacy a long time ago for me, it’s a part of my job, and it lost meaning. Whether or not you’d like to, just know it has nothing whatsoever to do with sex, and a hell of a lot to do with  _you_.”

For one of the first times in his short and somewhat odd life, Q was rendered completely and entirely speechless.

Bond, to his credit, didn’t say a word. He just waited, patient.

“Dinner?” Q repeated, when he had the facility. “Well. Alright then. I like Italian.”

“That can be arranged,” Bond returned, suppressing a grin for the sake of both their prides. “Eight?”

“Eight,” Q agreed.

He waited for Bond to leave before allowing himself to grin, and giggle like a teenager, out of sight.


	649. Chapter 649

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, you beautiful, wonderful writers (^.^) I’m not sure if you’re okay with writing mpreg, but if you’re cool with it, could you write something where Q has gone into labour and he rings James and James runs to the tube and is about to miss it but grabs onto the back (basically the train scence in Skyfall) and the couple standing at the side turn out to be Q’s parents but James didn’t know? Thank you so much :D – anon

“Hello?”

“ _Hi – so, just a little thing, but I appear to be in labour_.”

Bond held the phone away from his ear, glanced at the caller ID, narrowed his eyes, and replaced the phone. “Sorry, what?”

“ _James, I’m in labour. Baby is coming, that sort of thing. Fucking ow, for the record, now get your arse over here_.”

“On it,” Bond replied, hanging up as he disappeared into the murky depths of Charing Cross tube station; the train was naturally in the course of leaving, which meant Bond relived history for a terrifying moment (praying that his physical fitness was and would be holding) as he raced after a moving train, and catapulted himself onto the back of it.

He disappeared into the tunnel, stomach knotting.

Back on the platform, Violet Holmes glanced at her husband. “Wasn’t that Bond?” she asked curiously, peering after the train. “I could have  _sworn_  it was Bond.”

“I didn’t get a good look at his face,” Siger shrugged; in his pocket, his phone gave a tremulous beep as it accessed the half-bar of signal that seemed to available despite all the odds. “ _Ah_. Okay, almost certainly James.”

Violet merely needed to glance over her husband. “My god, he’s gone into labour, hasn’t he?” she realised aloud, before grinning with sheer, almost childish delight. “I’m going to be a grandparent! We need to move quickly darling, I don’t want to miss it.”

“Neither does James, apparently,” Siger noted aloud, smiling slightly; he wholeheartedly approved of the agent, despite Violet’s not-very-subtle reservations. He may have been an MI6 agent, but he would end heaven and earth for the man he loved. “Alright then. To the hospital.”

“Here’s hoping Bond doesn’t do himself damage en route,” Violet muttered, and stepped neatly onto the next train that arrived.


	650. Chapter 650

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q? So there’s a settling in stage after an alpha and omega mate. One trait is that they start wearing similar clothes and usually it tends to drift towards the alpha’s attire but James starts wearing more casual attire instead. Everyone is shocked but James secretly does it because he knows nothing turns his mate on more than seeing James barefoot in a an pair of jeans that fit him to the nines. – runemarks

It seemed somewhat obvious that Q and Bond would mate; the pair had hit it off in a way nobody had seen from Bond since the unspoken days of Vesper Lynd, and god knew Bond needed a mate. He was definitely the kind of man who did not work well on his own for too long.

Q was just ready to settle down, and Bond was a very good option for him. When Bond started making advances, Q didn’t really hesitate.

It began gradually, and nobody could quite believe it.

Q-branch had been looking forward to it; their esteemed leader, dressed in top to toe Armani, polished shoes, jackets, hair perfectly tidy. There were quiet bets that he would look  _gorgeous_  – men in decent tailoring tend to – and so they waited and watched, and were profoundly disappointed when it seemed that Q and Bond were somehow immune to the effects of settling-in.

“Oh my  _god_.”

Bond ambled into Q-branch, as he was wont to do now his mate was there. It wasn’t unusual.

The unusual part was his damned  _clothing_.

“Well,” Moneypenny commented, not even vaguely trying to suppress a smirk. “That took no time at all. I  _knew it_.”

Bond, in a cardigan.

Moneypenny honestly thought it was possibly her favourite thing she had ever witnessed. James Bond, in a damned  _cardigan_ , and looked entirely nonchalant along with it. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

“Apparently,” Bond replied, straightening the cuffs slightly. “He likes it. I know he does. So, yes… I’m in a cardigan. They’re surprisingly comfortable.”

Moneypenny grinned, reaching out to stroke down the sleeve. “Nice material,” she acknowledged, with a small nod. “My god, James, I never thought you would.”

Bond shrugged, grinned. “The thing one does,” he mused aloud, and continued his stride towards Q’s office, Q turning around with an almost comic expression of joy as he smelt his Alpha’s approach.

Moneypenny’s favourite aspect was just precisely Q’s expression; not merely that of a contented Omega. Oh, no.

Q looked like all of his Christmases had come at once, eyes becoming exponentially wider as Bond toed off his shoes; Eve caught a glance of his expression as he shut Q’s office door, sparing a second to shoot Eve a lascivious wink before vanishing into the ether.


	651. Chapter 651

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q are married but Q can’t stand the drinking so leaves James, they find James starving himself because Q left him. – anon

Q was in Q-branch, as one could expect, but was not quite as he had ever been before; once upon a time, Q had smiled so easily, loved so simply, and Bond had been perpetually on monitors or on headsets. Not always speaking, but  _there_ , and they both had a connection that kept them somehow tethered to sanity.

Bond was gone.

Nobody had seen him in a fairly long while. Completely off-radar, actually.

Q had left him. Since before their marriage, Q had said that he could not stand Bond’s drinking. It had been a ticking problem behind the scenes, but the final turning point had been Bond getting violent.

Q was hit. Q left. There was absolutely no question, no discussion about it. Q did not look back.

“Do you know where Bond is?”

“No,” Q returned shortly, without looking up. He was not intending to find out, either. Bond had tried and failed to get through to Q, but had also not bothered with anything intelligent like therapy, or really making any decent effort to get help. Q had told him it had to stop. Bond had not listened.

Q would not be a victim, not in something like this.

Bond could only watch from a distance. Or, as matters lived now, not watch at all; just slink into the side lines and linger there indefinitely where nobody could see him kill himself by inches.

When Bond was stumbled upon, he was emaciated and wide-eyed, dark rings staring around at those who came close. “What do you want?” he asked, voice almost gone.

“Where, the  _hell_ ,” Eve snapped at him, “have you been?!”

Bond just stared at her for a while, as though he didn’t quite recognise her face. “Busy,” he murmured, shrugging very slightly, lopsided, eyes dead and refocusing nowhere at all. “Forget it, forget me.”

“Pretentious twat, of course I’m not going to simply ‘forgot you’,” she muttered. “You look like hell. Have you eaten?!”

Bond shrugged very slightly, very sadly. “S’the point?” he mumbled. “I can’t stop. I can’t fix this on my own.”

Eve rolled her eye elaborately, let out a short sigh. He was pathetic, of course he was, but it was  _Bond_. He needed help, more than anybody she had seen in a very long while. “We’ll work it out,” she said gently, extending a hand out. “First things first: we need to get you eating, and sober. Come on. Come with me.”

Bond glanced at her, at her extended hand.

Let her take him away.


	652. Chapter 652

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING ANGST* James has been tortured so severely that he looses the bond with Q, so Q has to try and get his trust again. – anon

Everything about Bond was tangibly, horrifically broken.

“James?” Q asked; an earpiece had been slipped into Bond’s ear, some way of tenuously connecting the pair back together, Q’s voice finally reaching his lover once again after weeks of loss, of Bond being tortured halfway to hell and back for the last month. Q trying desperately to get his lover back, following dead ends and dead bodies to trail back to a single group, to – eventually – the form of Bond’s broken body.

Bond didn’t reply. “ _James_.”

Bond let out a low cry, and grappled at his head, trying to get it out, trying to get the voice away from him.

Q couldn’t breathe, as the earpiece was pulled away, and Q was alone again.

-

“I can’t be who I was,” Bond rasped at him, voice almost gone, eyes dead. “I know I loved you, but I don’t any more. I can’t.”

Q watched him, his own heart breaking. He didn’t blame Bond, god knew he couldn’t, but fuck – he had missed Bond too. He had tried, and he had hurt, and hadn’t slept in weeks trying to find him and get him out, and he  _couldn’t_. He had tried so hard, so unfairly and painfully hard, and now he had nothing of Bond left. He had been too late.

Bond didn’t love him. “I’m trying,” he supplemented.

“Are you?” Q asked softly, voice a fragile remnant of what it once had been.

They remained in silence for a moment. Bond’s silence was possibly the most painful thing Q had ever attempted to live through; he just  _watched_ , eyes blank, heavily with everything that was no longer there. “I know I loved you,” Bond murmured, a little bit later, making Q’s entire body shudder slightly. “I just don’t know who you are, any more. I don’t… Q, I’m sorry.”

“I can’t do this right now,” Q mumbled, and escaped the Medical wing as fast he could.

-

It is only so easy to try and be everything somebody needs you to be. What everybody expects you to be. Trying to keep oneself so perfectly intact that nobody sees the jagged fault lines that had exploded over the surface, turning everything to splinters and spiderwebs breaks in a surface.

“I have tried so hard,” Q breathed. “ _So hard_. I know it’s not your fault but fuck, James, I lost things too, and I can’t… I can’t watch you like this. You barely know who I am.”

“I know who you are, I just can’t  _feel it_ ,” Bond contradicted lividly; a couple of months of medical help and therapy had left Bond mobile once again, living his life once again. The thing that was missing, as ever, remained Q.

Just Q.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Q just looked at him, nodded uncertainly, unevenly. “Me too.”


	653. Chapter 653

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a furrie - when he’s stressed he likes to go home + dress up/pretend to be a cat. Bond finds out + loves it - he makes Q beg for treats, roll over for tummy rubs + wear a little collar with a bell on it. – anon

Honestly, both parties had been petrified the first time Bond had found the collar.

After all, it wasn’t exactly the dark and heavy type designed for rather kinkier arts, but a thin blue cat collar with a little bell. Honest to god. Bell.

"It just… relaxes me," Q tried, as he watched Bond’s face warily. "I mean, when it all gets too much… we all have ways of dealing with it. This is mine."

Q swallowed, and waited.

"I love it," Bond said simply, thumbing over the collar.

"You do?!" Q spluttered, eyes wide.

Bond beckoned him over, indicating for Q to take a seat in front of him. “Sometimes I wish I could just… forget it all, leave my head for a while,” Bond told him, as Q knelt between Bond’s legs.

Bond reached down, placing the collar around Q’s neck and fastening it, stroking a hand through Q’s unruly curls and eliciting a small purr in response. From that moment on, Q knew it would be alright.

It wasn’t every day, but they reached an understanding. Q would appear, collar on, and strech across Bond’s lap as they watched TV. It was incredibly calming, Bond’s fingers stroking through Q’s hair as he downright purred at the sensation.

The laser pointer had been a particularly amusing experience for all involved.

Occasionally, it would melt into work life – but only in the subtlest of ways. After a long day, Bond would find his Quartermaster batting at his arm, head-butting his chest and generally whining. Earl Grey and a kiss normally solved most issues however, and the man would return to work.

"Come on, beg me," Bond laughed, as he held the bourbon high out of reach as his lover rolled on the floor. "Nope, not buying it. You want it, you earn it."

Q frowned, face crumpling as he reached out to bat Bond’s leg.

"Nope. Clearly it’s my biscuit then…" Bond shrugged, moving to eat it.

Finally, Q moved up, nuzzling his leg and allowing the agent to pet him. “There we go, not so hard is it?” Bond asked, offering him the biscuit and watching as Q munched away happily.

Unconventional perhaps, but it worked.


	654. Chapter 654

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> female!Q whump hurt/comfort after a rough day- lots of ooq cuddling please! you guys rock :) – anon

Q was collapsed in the corner of the room, wrists still bound behind her back, battered and absolutely terrified as the door splintered inwards.

“Q?”

Q hadn’t known she could feel such palpable relief. “James,” she returned, her voice rasping, cringing slightly from the influx of people. “Fuck, James, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever fucking coming.”

“Your language is terrible when you’re stressed,” Bond teased lightly, voice slightly taut with worry as his fingers moved over the narrow planes of her body, finding hurts, documenting them with a soothing lull she could almost believe.

Med teams swarmed fairly imminently. Bond refused to let Q out of his sight; she let out a small sound as he moved away, fingers clutching out to try and capture some piece, some fragment of him before he was gone.

“It’s okay darling,” he said gently, “I’m here. It’s all fine.”

“You never call me ‘darling’,” she mumbled, before the med teams sedated her and she merrily passed out.

-

Q came to with the sensation that something furry had died in her mouth. “Ergh,” she moaned, trying to move, eyes clouding; she extended a hand uncoordinatedly out, trying to grapple for her glasses with somewhat less success than she had been hoping for.

Instead, Bond lifted them, delivering them to her palm for her to try and get on her face with equal levels of un-coordination. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “Medical, I’m assuming?”

“Naturally. You’re here for a fortnight. I give you five days before you’re bored enough to attempt a break-out,” Bond told her lightly, playfully; Q groaned, trying to sit up a bit, lip wrinkling in distaste.

“Three,” she amended, making Bond chuckle. “Water?”

Bond duly reached for the glass on her bedside; she let out a small, optimistic sound and kept her arms extended.

After a moment, Bond grinned, stood. Q shuffled with a surprising amount of pain to one side, and let Bond slide into the bed next to her – the medical bed made a slightly annoyed sound at the combined weight – and tuck an arm around her with incredible gentleness, avoiding everywhere he knew was injured.

Honestly, Q didn’t care; she shuffled in closer, ignoring pain, letting Bond’s arms close and capture her, utterly safe. “Thank you for coming for me,” she murmured, sipping the water, head falling and eyes sliding closed. Bond always felt so  _safe_ , his warmth and his presence intoxicating, and he held onto her as she slid into sleep.


	655. Chapter 655

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your writing so much! I was just wondering if you could do a 00q fic where all the double oh agents are together at MI6? I think it’d be really interesting to see them (and Q) all together in one room.

Alec was, naturally, the one sat with his feet on Q’s desk, cradling a tumbler of neat vodka and grinning maniacally; Q prodded him with a prototype electrically charged pen, and he quickly adapted.

Bond was taking pride of place by Q’s side, while Q himself remained looking like a child in the midst of some of the most frightening and adept people in the United Kingdom. Albeit a child with more power than most could conceive of, and the ability to kill or save any of their lives in an instant.

001 smiled slightly, her hair tied back in a mercilessly neat ponytail. “Group mission?” she asked lightly, kicking 003 quickly as he unapologetically flirted with 004 – the pair had a history, naturally, but it was just  _unprofessional_  to bring it up now – and smiling at Q.

Q loved 001. She was just lovely. “Quite. I’m here to outfit the lot of you. 008 is still in deep cover elsewhere, 005 has a separate mission in all this, but for the most part we have an en masse infiltration and undercover system being constructed. You will be  _all_  be part of the same conglomerate, or so the story will go – we need to present a fully operational underground organisation that will be scouting information, trading links, potentially integrating.”

009 raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming a structure and roles have been arranged?” she asked slowly.

“I am your leader, for the purposes of this mission 007 and 001 will be working as bodyguards and my right-hand men – figurative, before you look at me like that – and the rest of you have packs that will detail your roles.”

“Relationships?” 003 asked, with a cocky sideways grin, Alec snorting briefly at the question and trying to cover it with a slug of vodka.

Q raised an eyebrow. “Myself and Bond’s will remain as is. The pair of you,” he continued, gesturing at 003 and 004, “will also be in a relationship, but that may need to cease at some stage. The rest of you have marks I would like you to begin work on the moment we are settled. Trevelyan, Morris?”

006 and 009 glanced up. “We need an abduction and a hit respectively, you’ll have to work in tandem. You two will be our loose cannons. 005 will be arriving after a couple of months, I have a system prepared in that regard.”

Everybody nodded, seeming fairly impressed; Q was very on the ball, and a little bit scary for somebody who could be knocked over by an oppressive gust of wind.

“Take your packs, and shoo. Everything will be kicking off two days from today – myself and Bond will be installed first, and the rest of you, just look at your plane tickets and do as directed.”

“Received and understood,” Trevelyan piped up, with a kilowatt grin that Q couldn’t quite deny was fairly pretty. “Drinks, guys and girls?”

Q smirked slightly, invisibly. “I have work, unlike some, and you should all be looking through your files,” he berated, still a little playfully. “Shoo. The lot of you. If any of you let me down on this mission – which, by the way, has been extremely difficult to arrange – I will demonstrate the full power of my pen-taser, and you will not like it. Shoo.”

They left.

“You’re ridiculously hot when you’re in charge,” Bond murmured in his lover’s ear, and Q looked at him with all the wickedness of the world living brightly in his eyes.

“… Duly noted…”


	656. Chapter 656

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You two are brilliant writers :) my prompt is the Q and James are on a mission in New York and Q is in one of the twin towers whilst James is chasing after a suspect until he sees the plane crash into one of the towers and he tries to run in but someone won’t let him. And he’s terrified Q is dead (him and Q were in a secret relationship) he isn’t but he’s severely injured. Thank you so much : D – anon

In retrospect, it was impossible to have any true understanding of the effect it would have. The Secret Service made one slightly inured to global crises; everything had the potential to end worlds, to destroy coalitions, wreck all political understandings and kill a large number of people.

This was new. This was  _public_ , and this was something nobody had really seen coming.

Q.

Bond was running. Of course he was running. He changed his course in the space of half a second, upon realising that something was happening far beyond what he was currently doing. Perspective, the need to find what was happening and hope,  _pray_ , that Q was already out.

Onto his phone, and the lines were predictably throttled, Bond calling and calling on repeat until “ _James_?”

“Q,  _fuck_ , where are you?”

The silence was impossible. “Floor seventy-nine,” he murmured. “Parts of the ceiling have fallen in, I’m trying to get down, I just… don’t worry, it’ll be alright. I’m going to have to hang up, just… I love you. I really love you. Please be safe, don’t do anything stupid. Promise me.”

Bond was about twenty seconds from destroying the world and everything in it for the chance of getting near his partner. The buildings were near enough in lockdown already, only trained personnel allowed anywhere close. “I promise,” Bond managed, his voice ashen. “I love you.”

The line wrenched to static.

-

Bond waited, continued to wait. Time ticked inexorably,

When Q finally appeared, he was barely conscious.

“Q,  _Q_.”

The younger man lifted his head up, blearily making contact with Bond. “’lo,” he mumbled, medical professionals desperately trying to get Bond the  _hell_  out of the way, Bond curtly demonstrating that he was a member of MI6 and it would be extremely wise to allow him access to their quartermaster.

Not said in precisely those terms, but the sentiment survived.

“Hey,” Q murmured, slim fingers circling Bond’s as he fell into unconsciousness.


	657. Chapter 657

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you for all your wonderful creations & ask to add my own little idea, it started off as a little idea & has grown into a weird crossover in my head. Friends, Bond & Q go on holiday. Bonds job is full of exotic places & adventure & Q is always stuck behind a keyboard so Bond takes them off for 2 weeks to the most woe-begotten British seaside resort to ‘get away from it all’ (Fawlty Towers!). Bond loves it but after 12 hours in Hell, Q decides the only thing to do in town is Bond. – anon

Everything seemed like it had been quite intentionally constructed to make Q’s life a living hell.

Firstly, James Bond had taken him on holiday. The most irritating and absurd agent in Her Majesty’s Service had taken it upon himself to near-enough abduct his Quartermaster and install him in a god-awful hotel, run by a moron with a moustache and truly incompetent staff.

Bond seemed fairly fond of the lady of the establishment, a slightly terrifying woman named Sybil, and conversed in easy conversational Spanish with the waiter and apparent general ‘help’, but the proprietor was a nightmarish moron named Basil and Q could not for the life of him understand how such a man existed, far less was attempting to run a hotel, and even less than that how Bond could bear being in the damned place for more than about half an hour without wanting to commit mass murder.

Sybil also had an excruciatingly annoying laugh.

Q was bored out of his wits, the place had no working wifi – surprise of all surprises – and Bond kept grinning at him in a way that made Q itch for his personalised Walther.

“You don’t understand relaxation at all, do you?” Bond laughed, as Q made angry noises under his breath and whined at absolutely everything. “There has to be something you can enjoy which isn’t technology-based.”

Q looked at Bond. His eyes narrowed very slightly.

Bond let out a strange and very un-Bond-like yelp of shock as Q all but pounced at him, kissing him with smug viciousness. “What are you  _doing_?!” Bond asked in alarm, holding Q at arm’s length.

Q glanced Bond up and down, shrugged unapologetically. “Something I can enjoy,” he said frankly.

It didn’t take an enormous amount more encouragement; Bond rather pounced back, kissing Q with a ferocity that Q hadn’t really given him credit for, and the pair wound up having very noisy sex, much to the perturbation of the Germans next door.


	658. Chapter 658

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural creatures are well known in the world. Bond is one of 4 weres that are 00s. While he’s out on a mission, Q gets bitten and turned. Q’s instinct is to go and hide in Bond’s apartment. When Bond gets back he finds Q in a nesting in James’s clothes from his closet. Whatever were creature you want to make them is fine. – runemarks

Bond delightedly bounded upstairs, aware that he definitely had a fellow were somewhere in his house, and they were in their wereform, and had only just turned so would be ridiculously unstable for a very long while, but they’d decided to come to him.

It had to be somebody who knew Bond in real life, given that – mercifully – Bond had learnt very carefully how to manage his form. Bond had been turned while very young indeed, and over the years, no longer suffered from the compulsions or need to remain in wereform to any real degree.

However Q – who was curled up in his wardrobe – was quite definitely still prey to the earlier urges of being turned.

“Q?”

To his credit, Q was managing to not in wereform constantly. He was very much human. He was also very much in Bond’s wardrobe.

“Fuck off, you’re feline, I needed somewhere safe.”

Bond blinked, raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t tell the person whose house you’ve broken into, and whose designer clothes you have crumpled beyond all recognition, to ‘fuck off’”.

“Good thing I’m not you then,” Q retorted sulkily.

Bond reached in.

Stress response at its finest: Q instantly switched into his wereform, and Bond simply could not stop laughing the moment he fully realised.

Q was a cat. Not merely a cat, but an itsy bitsy one, with enormous eyes and very soft black fur that was the precise shade of his usual floppy hair. “I never thought I’d see the day,” Bond admitted, still barely containing laughter, gently plucking Q out of the way so he could sit fully in the wardrobe and pop Q on his lap. “So. I’m guessing you got bitten?”

The cat in Bond’s lap nodded. Always an odd experience. “Alright. And you came here because I’m also a cat. You’ve decided to make a home in my wardrobe. The smell?”

Another nod.

Q shifted into his human form. “ _Damnit_ ,” Bond swore, as Q’s bony arse dug into his leg, Q’s head hit the side of the wardrobe, and Bond’s wardrobe decided it was probably a touch unhappy with two people trying to sit in a confined space.

“Sorry, just – you don’t mind?

Before Bond could answer, Q had shifted again. He looked up at Bond expectantly all the same.

“Obviously not, I know what it’s like at the earlier stages,” Bond tsked, and stroked through his fur, running a long finger along the bumps of his feline spine. “It gets easier, I promise. For now, we need to sort out the logistics – stress will make you switch, so work will be interesting…”

With what was evidently a great force of effort, Q returned to sitting on Bond’s lap in human form. “I will be  _fine_ ,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster, and tried to pretend he wasn’t half-nuzzling into Bond’s front for no other reason than It Smelt Nice.

Bond nodded, and schooled himself not to smirk. “Of course,” he nodded, serious-face in place, as Q switched straight back again.


	659. Chapter 659

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you continue widowed Omega Q with a daughter? When Bond claims Q and his daughter calls Bond Papa (and Bond absolutely does not feel anything. or cry.)

Ella was gorgeous, and apparently very intuitive – she would clearly be very good at working out orientations when older – given that she took one sniff of Bond, and near enough bowled him over in a hug.

Q looked vaguely miffed, but not too much; Ella was his world, Bond knew that, and now Bond was a necessary part of that world too.

The problem was that she was somebody else’s child, and Bond simply could not escape that fact. In spite of all he wanted to think and believe, she was  _not his_ , and the stench of another man and another person’s smile and another’s life beat out of the child’s heart and he just… couldn’t. There was a block there, and he didn’t know why.

Naturally, Q noticed fairly quickly. Bond assumed that Ella must have noticed, too, but didn’t especially want to think about that too closely; she was a child, needed parents and love and protection and there was just  _nothing_.

Bond tried valiantly hard.

“What’s the problem?” Q asked at one stage, his eyebrows contracting, defensive hackles raised for his daughter. “You don’t like her?”

“She’s lovely,” Bond replied honestly.

Q was inches away from getting very, very angry, when Bond found words: “She’s just not  _mine_.”

Silence, for a moment. “So, you are being unpleasant to my daughter for no other reason than…”

“… not fair, I’m not treating her even slightly differently…”

“… well fuck, James, it’s not like you’re especially  _friendly_ …”

“I’ve barely met her!”

“She’s my  _daughter_.”

“And I am trying my best,” Bond completed, sharply, angry now. “Stop making this about me being cruel to her, El’s a wonderful kid and she’s so much like you, Q, I can see so much of you, but I don’t know. Maybe with time. Just give me time.”

Q had rarely looked so utterly repulsed in all the time Bond had known him. “I thought better of you,” he said stiffly.

“I can’t control what my feelings do. I would never,  _ever_  treat her any differently, but I can’t lie and pretend I feel for her like I do you… were you expecting me to suddenly just  _inherit_  the same feelings you do?”

They watched one another, perfectly silent.

Mercifully, Q was the first to buckle: “I’m sorry.”

Bond’s smile was non-existent. “It’s okay,” he said, quietly, sadly. “Me too. I promise I’ll try, but I can’t promise you anything more right now.”

Q gave him a sideways shrug, and everything petered out to nothing, Bond feeling something heavy weighing on his chest and with no way to remove it.


	660. Chapter 660

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q thinks Bond is his father. Bond finds out about this + to everyone’s surprise he takes his role as father very seriously - perhaps too seriously as he starts lecturing Q on what he should do + being very over protective esp when it comes to who Q can date. (don’t mind if it turns out they’re not really related but no incest please) – anon

"Have you shaved this morning?" Bond asked, sitting in his normal corner of Q’s office; the man had taken to lingering, in a way Q-branch could never quite get used to but Q seemed to be allowing to happen, weirdly enough.

"Oddly Bond, I had other priorities - the Ukranian Ambassador perhaps?" Q replied smartly, spanner in hand.

Bond continued to watch him. “You look a mess.”

Q glanced up, entirely unconcerned. “Yes. I know. Again: not of primary concern.”

"Looking after yourself should always be a top priority," Bond chastised quietly.

"Oh fuck off James," Q replied, smirking.

Bond shrugged, placing down his book. “Just trying to help. After all, you need to make a good impression. Make up for the…well,” he trailed off, inciting a mildly irritated glance, eyes narrowing. “Well, the acne.”

Bond ducked, the newly airborne spanner missing him by inches. “Fine, look, it’s important.”

"For my career? I seem to be doing just fine as I am," Q replied, moving to retrieve the tool, waving it somewhat elaborately; Q was descending into what Bond tended to mockingly name "petulant child mode", which made everybody a little resentful, none more so than Q himself. "James, this isn’t fair."

"I’m trying to look out for  _your_  best interests.”

“ _Fine_ , Q retorted, and glared violently. “I’ll go shave. Happy?”

"And shower."

"Pushing it, 007."

"Got it," Bond replied, returning to his book. Q began to pack up, shoving things roughly into his toolbox. "Did anything ever happen with…”

"We are  _not_  discussing that now,” Q spluttered, turning slightly pink around the ears.

"Why not?"

Q gaped slightly. “That’s… private. Definitely private. Not for a work environment. Nope. Definitely.”

Bond thumbed through the pages, musing aloud: “He seemed nice, what was his name - Frank? Francis?”

"Freddy. His name is Freddy and if I say that we are meeting again on Thursday will you please  _shut up_?!”

Bond grinned, nodded. “Maybe. Is he nice?”

"I thought you said you’d  _leave it alone_?!”

"I may have lied"

"Yes, he’s nice. So you don’t have to stalk him home, or hack his files, or kidnap him, or threaten him or, or /anything/," Q told him, head in his hands, conceding defeat. "Facebook stalk if you must."

Bond’s grin was truly frightening. “I am so far ahead of you.”

"…What did you do?"

"He may not be able to leave the country for a while…"

"I lied."

"I  _hate you_.”

Bond just smirked. “No, you don’t.”


	661. Chapter 661

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have a prompt. what about james having really violent nightmares and almost get no sleep at night, and the mi6 workers find out when they find him sleeping in Q-branc (which he does often) and then wakes up screaming “NO!” or something like that :D – anon

It was a long standing tradition for the Quartermaster to keep a camp bed in his office. Often said Quartermaster would be needed for days at a time, so at some point the bed had been instigated. The only break in tradition was that instead of the Quartermaster, it was agent 007 lying in said bed, as Q worked madly at his desk.

Bond often seemed to find himself sleeping in Q-branch. Q’s typing proved something of a perpetual comfort, a known entity that could lull him into some form of sleep.

He was an erratic sleeper at best; at points Q would move over to him and place a hand on his shoulder, his forehead, waiting until the worst of the fits calmed.

"Q?" R called from outside the office. "We need you out here."

Q didn’t think much of it at the time, something he would live to regret; he headed out into the main floor of Q-branch instead, speaking with tired animation to his co-workers, overseeing the various aspects they needed his eye on. “Recheck the calibrations here, it’s…”

He ended up on the floor for more than an hour; something somewhere had gone wrong, and apparently that involved Q stage-managing an extraction from a small Russian nightclub.

After a point R looked around, realising the infamous ‘Q’ mug nowhere in sight; she assumed office, headed to the door and punched in the key code, the door swinging open.

Bond was asleep on the bed, but managed to sit bolt upright upon seeing a figure in the doorway, and immediately start shouting: “Get out,  _get out_. Q? Q?!”

"Oh god, I’m, I’m so sorry," R managed, jumping almost out of her skin and dashing out of the door. The entire branch had frozen, staring at the office door.

Immediately, Q was running, and nobody could miss the fact that his hand had gone to his gun: Bond was dangerous. It was a deeply unfortunate, but true, fact: when in the midst of a nightmare, Q had to be wary, had to protect himself.

"Bond! Bond! James!" Q called, tugging the headset off and chucking it to one side. Thankfully, 001 was in the clear, but R nevertheless picked up the headset wildly and attempted to reconnect.

Bond was barely focusing; Q held a hand up, calm, placating. “James, you need to calm down. It’s Q. Your Quartermaster. You are James Bond, and you are in Q-branch… in my office, I might add.”

For a moment, terrifying suspension.

Q watched the tension bleed out of Bond’s body by increments, the man eventually slumping, exhausted. “Sorry, god, Q I’m sorry I…”

"007?"

Bond gave a nod, a small one. “Well. As auspicious moments go, that was not one of my betters.”

"Not as such," Q admitted gently, and smiled. "You should try to get some more rest. I’ll be outside if you need me. Try not to kill me or my staff?"

"I will do my best," he replied, with a little more of his usual confidence, and let Q go with a simple lingering glance.


	662. Chapter 662

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a song by Edvin Marton called “My Love is Deep” which makes me think about James singing this song to Q. So can you write James serenading Q and everyone kinda shipping 00Q after? – sanadaaki

Q wanted to kill the man; Bond, meanwhile, was near enough implacable – as per bloody ever – and apparently unlikely to desist any time soon.

_If only_ , Q thought bitterly _, I liked the goddamn song_.

It wasn’t bad, per se, but it definitely got old after being on repeat for the past several hours and in Bond’s not bad, not brilliant voice, and  _yes_  Bond was lovely, but Q was not interested in a relationship and this was bordering on harassment.

“Q…”

“If you ask me one more time, exploding pen will be shoved up your posterior and deployed,” Q told him curtly.

To his confusion, horror, Bond just grinned. “You made one, though.”

Q’s mouth dropped in sheer disbelief. “No. Just, no. Do not read spurious things into this just because you think you can. Bad plan. Bad, bad plan. I’ll end you.”

Bond’s eyebrow quirked up to practically his hairline. “Yes, Q. I believe that  _entirely_.”

Q lobbed a spanner at him, which bounced off the doorframe with a particularly dramatic noise. “I won’t be mocked.”

“Again; could have fooled me.”

Apart from an animal cry of rage, there were few options left to Q; he let out an aggrieved snarl instead, and returned his somewhat ferocious attentions to whatever miniscule device had hijacked all of his attention.

Bond waited a little while. “I do like you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Q parried, in a nasty imitation of Bond’s attempts at suavity. “Piss off.”

“No. Is it you genuinely don’t want a date, or your pride?”

Q flushed puce, and couldn’t find a single word.

“If it’s the former,” Bond continued, fairly blithely, “I’ll leave now, you won’t hear another word on the subject. If no, then just a drink?”

Silence reigned. Bond edgily watched Q with a screwdriver, prepared for it to receive similar treatment to the beleaguered spanner.

A very, very long time passed.

Q still couldn’t get the goddamn  _bloody_  song out of his head.

“Fine.”

Bond blinked. “What?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Q repeated curtly. “Drinks. You will pick me up, behave like a gentleman. I will allow it. You will not try too hard.”  
A slight bit of rather amusing gaping. “I’ll….”

“Eight. Here.”

“I…”

“You wanted it, you suffer it my way,” Q said simply. “You coerced me into it – and you’re right, yes, I do actually want to by the by – so this now gets done my way. Deal? Good.”

Bond just went with it.

It could have gone a  _lot_  worse.


	663. Chapter 663

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barely-Established 00Q prompt? Bond is returning less and less of the weapons and Q is PISSED! All the stress of MI6 has gotten to him so M makes him go undercover to bust someone in another country. Everyone is chill Bond doesn’t know and thinks Q broke up with him and is never coming back so he goes and almost ruins the mission. Scared&Insecure!Bond and Sassy&Badass!Q have a happy ending! :) – anon

It wasn’t overwhelmingly surprising.

Okay, well, the suit was surprising. The fact of him needing to wear the suit was less surprising. Really, Q wasn’t too unhappy with most of the recent turns of events barring the theoretical aspects of formal wear and the absence of his cardigan which  _really_ , was still formal-wear, just not how  _they_  wanted him to have formal wear.

Thus Q heaved a sigh, and wore the suit.

Time passed. Dinner was boring. Drinks even more so. Champagne was something Q rarely indulged in. It was fairly enjoyable.

“Q?”

Q did not respond. Here, he was not Q. Thus, it had to be a mistake, and he schooled himself into not responding in the slightest and keeping utterly impassive. Probably some random pisshead anyway.

“ _Q_.”

Definitely random. Definitely a pisshead.

“ _What_ ,” Q hissed, in the most emphatic manner he was able, “do you think you are doing here?”

Bond looked vaguely confused, utterly bereft. He vaguely resembled Q’s first ever pet; a sweet little dog with floppy ears and an expression that spoke of nothing going on behind the eyes. “I…”

“James, isn’t it, by the way?” Q continued, almost without pause. “Sorry, I just can’t quite believe I’d run into you here, of all places. How’s England treating you?”

Thank all the merciful heavens Bond was not a complete idiot: “Fairly well, it’s nice to be away for a while. I’m sorry, what was your name again…?”

“Sorry, yes, it’s Jeremy,” Q said, with a wide smile and an outstretched hand. “Should I be offended you don’t recall?”

Patented double-oh seven smirk slid into place. “Perhaps. Just how offended are you thinking?”

“Enough to take this somewhere quieter,” Q purred, large eyes gorgeously bright. “Follow me.”  
Two corridors.

Q and Bond’s smiles dropped in near-enough tandem. “Superb. You come in, and nearly  _trash_  my work. Again. Do you ever stop?!”

Bond looked genuinely forlorn. Genuinely, honestly, like parts of his world had probably imploded at some stage. “I’m sorry.”

The simple shock of the phrase, without coercion or apparently duplicity, made Q still for a moment. Gape. “What?!” he asked, completely side-swiped.

“I never meant to make you  _leave_ ,” Bond burbled – genuinely burbled – and Q was mostly confused, actually. “I didn’t, I really…”

Q held up a hand. Immediate silence. The power kick was really quite impressive.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” Q told him patiently. “I don’t know what gave you that idea, actually. You’re a pain in the arse, but we have a date in a couple of days, yes? I was always going to be back…”

Bond blinked. “You were?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Q repeated, a little helplessly. “Bond, calm. Endearing though crippling self-esteem issues can be…”

“I  _don’t_ have…”

Q just glanced his Armani-clad form up and down, and raised an eyebrow. “Try again,” he commented drily. “Anyway. Look, just try and be surreptitious, this is a fairly delicate operation. Also, don’t lose any more equipment, or you’ll be castrated.”

Bond nodded, looking suitably frightened. Perfect.

Q grinned manically, and gestured back towards the party. “Shall we?”


	664. Chapter 664

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I have a story, where Robert Frobisher is Q’s identical twin, he comes and meets Bond, he tries to steal Bond from Q and get him into bed. – anon

“ _BOBBY GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND_.”

It had to be said: Bond had definitely experienced better days.

Q had been shockingly predatory when Bond had walked through the door. Not a bad thing per se, but it was easy to feel a touch harassed, and Q was just being very  _feely_  and Bond found it a little bit alarming overall.

They had headed bed-wards, and things were going fine, until they were abruptly going very,  _very_ weird.

“Wait, Q, when did  _this_  happen?!” Bond asked in alarm, looking at a scar on his boyfriend’s back that he knew full well had never been there before. “Wait,  _wait_ , I’m… what’s going on?!”

Bond honestly thought he was losing his mind.

“James, what’s wrong?” Q asked, beautiful eyes bright and perfect and  _wrong_ , and Bond was definitely not happy.

There was something wrong, something very fundamentally and extremely and terrifyingly wrong and Bond had absolutely no idea what but Q was not being Q, and he had no way of really addressing that quirk. “Can we just… hang on. Hang on.”

Q looped Bond’s wrists together playfully, and pinned them above his head. Solidly, actually. Surprisingly solidly.

“Q?”

“I thought you might enjoy,” Q purred, fingers trickling over Bond’s skin. “So what do you think, hmm?”

“I think I’m getting  _seriously_  unnerved.”

Q pouted. Honest to god  _pouted_. It didn’t suit him. Bond was now getting actively frightened. “Don’t be like that, James…”

“Q,  _stop it_.”

Q had handcuffs. Holy hell, almost-Q-thing had handcuffs.

At which stage:

“ _BOBBY GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND_.”

Bond’s day got substantially less-good, as he hallucinated his  _actual_  boyfriend in the doorway, and was forced to abruptly consider that he had completely and entirely lost his mind.

“Don’t you dare call me Bobby!” Q said shortly, letting go of Bond’s wrists.

Bond sat up. “Q?”

Two of them: “Yes?!” followed by “Bobby, that’s  _enough_.”

“Robert.  _Robert_.”

“Definitely  _not_  Q, however.”

The Q straddling Bond raised an eyebrow. “Technically, you’re not either.”

“Could somebody  _kindly explain what the fuck is going on?!_ ”

Universal silence.

The Q in the doorway began: “Bond, I have an identical twin.”

The Q on the bed grinned like an absolute maniac, and waved in Bond’s face. “Hello,” he said brightly, and ducked before Bond punched him.


	665. Chapter 665

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would love a fic where James is in medical after a mission, both he and Q know he’s not going to make it so they stay up all night with Eve and James passes away in his sleep – anon

Bond was asleep, and Q knew full well he would not be waking in the imminent future.

Honestly, Q knew he would not be waking, but the sheer prospect of that was enough to make him feel incredibly sick, and want to scream out in a way that had no purpose and no end, and so he stayed quiet instead and tried to harbour the idea that he would wake up eventually, he would wake up and smile in that crooked way and his absurdly blue eyes would be tired but definitely present.

The quiet was everywhere, Bond’s breathing a light underpin that Q kept on listening for.

Eve was there. Eve refused to leave, actually. She just stayed with Q, sat by the bedside, and seemed to have precisely what Q needed: the ability to stay damned quiet, unless Q initiated conversation, or if she felt there was a genuine reason. Prattle was pointless, was precisely what would probably tip Q over the edge, turn whatever lived under his skin – anxiety was too mild, grief too pre-emptive because  _no_  – into something manageable, something he would be alright to cope with, maybe. Maybe.

Q mostly just wanted to scream  _don’t you dare die you bastard we had things to do we had lives we had everything don’t you dare fucking die (please don’t leave me)_  but that would be pointless, it would be pointless, so he swallowed everything back and vaguely remembered that he hadn’t showered in a very long time, and he couldn’t bear tea right now because it would probably make him cry so he went for juice instead and ate whatever Eve handed him because starving would be pointless.

They didn’t have him hooked up to various beeping monitors. It seemed a little limited. They were just waiting for the inevitable, and had ensured he was not in pain, which was nice of them. Thoughtful.

Q buried his head in his hands, emerged with red-rimmed eyes, and didn’t say a word. Neither did Eve. She reached out, and Q grasped onto her hand like a lifeline, somewhat surprised that he wanted it but happy to accept all the same, not very much was making sense any more.

Bond’s breathing was off.

Q moved instantly, Bond’s skin cool under his palm, and he kissed Bond’s forehead lightly and he still wanted to scream and sob  _let me keep him, you can take whoever the hell else but not him not him not him_  but kept it trapped somewhere in his chest where it tried to throttle him and he was losing the strength to fight it.

It seemed to happen anticlimactically. Bond was breathing, and then he was not.

Q’s heart seemed to stop beating in an instant, following Bond’s into silence.


	666. Chapter 666

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey there! what about james bein a total star-gazer (without Q knowing) and when Q wakes up in the middle of the night, he sees james sitting at the window with his head rested at his arms (mayby) just just looking at the stars luv you! – nann9790

“James?” Q mumbled, reaching out uncoordinatedly to find Bond very much absent; he assumed the toilet, but it was the nth time that night he had half-woken to find Bond not there.

What Q had not expected was to find Bond at the window, staring up the sky, completely lost in it. So much so, in fact, that he hadn’t quite noticed that Q had got out of bed to see what on earth he was looking at.

Sneaking up on a double-oh agent tended to end badly. Q avoided a nasty injury, but did somewhat petulantly sulk when Bond whacked him in the stomach; he apologised profusely of course, but it didn’t stop Q feeling a little bit put upon. “Sorry,” Bond told him, drawing Q in, holding him close. “I’m just looking out at the stars. It’s beautiful out tonight.”

Q glanced up, seeing the canopy of stars, smiling slightly at Bond’s expression. “Cassiopeia?”

“Nope, that way,” Bond teased, redirecting Q’s eyeline. “Not bad though. Do you…?”

Q shrugged. “When I was younger, I knew some bits. I’m guessing you do?”

Bond’s smile was oddly quiet, for him. “Have done, since as long as I can remember,” Bond shrugged. “I like stars. I like the infinitude of them. It’s addictive.”

“You know all their names?”

“Yep,” Bond nodded, bringing Q’s attention upwards, guiding his eyes, everything he could see. The dots of Orion’s belt, the sharp blink of Sirius, the stories behind them; Q listened with disbelief as Bond unravelled them all, and took Q through everything.

Q had rarely loved him more.

“You’re amazing,” he stated aloud.

Bond grinned with subtle joy, and kept speaking, low and steady, every story Q could wish for trickling through his lips.


	667. Chapter 667

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) you’re doing such a lovely job answering all these prompts!!! I have another one for you: Bond spent a lot of time sexing it up in a country and now he reflexively calls out in that language when he has sex with Q. Q finds it adorable and sexy and has a whole graph of all the different times its happened, in each different position, and all the different sentences. Xx thank you xx *throws cookies at you* - shertealocked

It got to the stage where Q would develop a penchant for Japanese, and would just blow him to make sure it happened. Where he was pathetically grateful that his favourite position – on his back, legs on Bond’s shoulders – meant he occasionally lyricized in gorgeously flowing Spanish. Where Q wound up pathetically grateful that his least-favourite position and least-favourite language coincided (doggy style, and German).

After a point, Q started to actually properly notate it.

Soon, he had a graph.

It was possibly Q’s favourite of all things he had ever created.

Everything of Bond was tracked and perfectly documented, and Q made sure Bond knew that he was always paying attention. “… Chinese, now, if I’m not mistaken,” he’d murmur, just as Bond launched fully-fledged sentences, informing Q – Google Translate helped in this – that he was perfect, gorgeous.

Then, in French, that Bond loved him.

Q hadn’t worked it out until he’d recovered from his post-coital haze, and Bond didn’t really remember saying anything. Q just ran the audio – he took audio, for reasons best known to himself and paranoia – and found something with ‘love’ which he recognised, and a contraction thereof he didn’t know.

Google Translate never lied.

Q called Bond. “I love you, too?”

Bond nearly fell over, which was achievement enough in itself. “You what?”

“I love you too,” Q repeated, with a little more confidence. “I didn’t realise what you’d said, I’m so sorry, I don’t want you to think…”

“…  _you choose right now_?”

Q heard the gunfire almost as an afterthought. “Damn,” he muttered. “Sorry James, forgot you have a mission. Call me back?”

Grunts. Q waited patiently.

“Yes,” Bond grunted. “Of course I love you, you moron, just by the way.”

Q grinned. “You sure?”

“Si.”

“What?”

“ _Learn some bloody languages Q, you’re an international agent,”_  Bond yelled at him, as what sounded remarkably like a large explosion issued behind him. “I need to go. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Q said proudly, and chalked  _English_  up on his graph, grinning as he did so.


	668. Chapter 668

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey can you write a prompt about after a post-mission, job well done bond also rescues a child-agent who was kinda innocent bc she was raised into that life and bond and Q we’re suppose to “temporarily”keep her and they grow kinda attached to her? Lots of PTSD ang angst at the beginning please! – anon

The girl was no more than thirteen, but with an age in her expression that Q hated to see; he saw it enough of the time in Bond, a hardened agent with years of experience and having entered willingly and openly. It wasn’t right to see it in a child.

Apparently, she had been addressed as A (full title A-21) for a long while. Code names, numbers. Her friends had called her Addy, and Q adopted that instantly as god knew he was not calling a child a code name.

“Addy, I’m Q, this is James.”

For reasons that Q supposed made sense, she took a shining to James more than Q. Bond was the more obvious agent, and had no pseudonym; he could be read by virtue of being unreadable, and so it mostly made sense that she would prefer that. Not to mention he spoke fluent Russian, which was Addy’s home language, although she was fluent in English. Q was an enigma, and too close to pretending to be normal to be fully trustworthy.

Addy was only supposed to be around until MI6 had found something to do with her. They didn’t take on children, ever. Orphans were recruited, put into training, but never into active work; Addy had seen far too much, far too young, and MI6 point blank refused to use her for missions. Instead, she was enrolled in school – showing remarkable deficits, it had to be said – and both Q and Bond looked after her.

In the middle of the night, Q heard the sobs.

Bond was already there. “A. Can you hear me?”

“James, you can’t call her…”

“Enough,” Bond snapped at Q, before returning attention to her knotted body. “A. This is James Bond, and I have Q with me. You need to listen, and look at me. Now.”

The direct orders had a clear, simple effect; she let out a breath, tension dribbling out of her, and looked up at Bond.

He smiled. “Hello. You alright, Addy?”

“No,” she told him honestly.

Bond, for possibly the first time in Q’s memory, drew the girl into an entirely voluntary and careful hug. “You’re alright,” he murmured, as she sobbed her heart out. “I’ve got you.”

Q and Bond exchanged looks.

They were never letting her go.


	669. Chapter 669

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so… i watched skyfall yesterday (again?!? just what the hell is wrong with me???) and what struck me is that Q (whishaw) and M (dench) are probably the sassiest, snarkiest, most british folks on the planet. wouldn’t it be funny to imagine Q’s job interview for mi6? :D anyway, whether you take this prompt or not, you are just brilliant. reading what you write is always a pleasure! :) – fridatwin

“You wish to work for MI6?”

“I would have considered the answer to that fairly self-evident: yes, as I am an asset you cannot afford having elsewhere. My skills on a freelance basis would pose a notable threat to British security, so in the spirit of British fairness, I felt I should offer myself up to you before you either abduct or shoot me.”

M hated him. Truly, honestly, completely hated him. He also made her laugh like nobody she had met in a long while, he had the stubbornness of James Bond with the quick wit of Eve Moneypenny and the thoroughness of Bill Tanner, and everybody knew this was a formality rather than an interview.

“I am strongly considering the latter,” she informed the upstart boy opposite.

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I would have been disappointed with anything less,” he said merrily. “You will not, though. You like my systems.”

M was definitely going to kill him, one day. She wasn’t sure which. Possibly a random Tuesday.

“Naturally, you will be moving to lead Q-branch, all your work now will be in preparation for our current Quartermaster’s departure. Any acquaintances or family who know your name…”

“And friends.”

M raised an sceptical eyebrow. The boy who would be Q swallowed a smirk, and nodded playfully. “So. When do I start?”

There was scope to be unpleasant, but M felt it rather pointless. “As soon as possible. As I was saying, all ties abandoned, we will begin calling you R now, with the understanding that you will Q the moment you are able. This is your life, from hereon in, and I would hate for you to be a disappointment.”

The newly-appointed R grinned, dark hair falling over his glasses. “I won’t be,” he told her simply. “This has been a pleasure.”

“Medical will be seeing you now,” M told him, with a slightly vindictive amount of joy, as the boy’s face fell. “Thank you, R. Report to Q-branch in the morning, and you will be taken through procedures.”

He grinned. “It’s been a pleasure.”

M’s expression didn’t change. “Quite,” she said drily, and stalked out of the interview room, the boy’s smirk following her.

Definitely a Tuesday.


	670. Chapter 670

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a fic with Q as Bond’s kept boy? – anon

Nobody objected to the arrangement.

Q was an independent and collected individual who loved his hobbies, loved the work he did. Bond was an equally damned independent, but far more pragmatic individual – and he loved Q more than he could begin to express.

Frankly, Q quite enjoyed being utterly lavished with attention. Bond had decided early on to make Q into his own, and Q had merrily let him; the perks were notable, Q able to do as much or as little as he liked, all expenses paid. His job truly was a hobby and an enjoyment, without the stress of dealing with a life elsewhere; meals were cooked, the flat was cleaned, expenses were paid for.

At least he was not a diva. Q had access to all the funds one could wish for, but simply didn’t see the need to spend it all on frivolity. Bond adored him; a pragmatist and lavish all at once, with impeccable taste and the ability to be forceful when required.

“I’m redoing the living room.”

Bond just didn’t ask, any more. “Sounds like fun. How’s Q-branch?”

“Fabulous as ever,” Q told him smugly, spearing steak with palpable enthusiasm. “It’s so much  _fun_. You have no idea.”

That much was a definite truism. Q spoke happily, sentences tumbling out his lips, words and excitement in spades. “I have another mission.”

Q was abruptly rather still.

That much was not unusual. Q hated how much Bond worked. It was the only point of argument the two ever found; Q hated being left on his own, Bond hated Q complaining about it.

 “How long?” Q asked, voice tight.

Bond sighed/ This would go down badly. “A month, minimum. Undercover, so minimal contact. I’m sorry, darling.”

Q shrugged slightly, in a way that amply informed Bond that it was  _not_  ‘alright’. The problem with being quite so looked after, quite so  _necessary_  in Bond’s life, was that his abandonment felt just that: Bond illustrating that he didn’t actually _need_  Q.

“I’ll keep you set up…”

“That isn’t the point, and you know it,” Q returned simply. “It’s fine, James. Go. I’ll be fine, obviously. I’ll miss you.”

Bond smiled, reached a hand out to cover Q’s own. “Forgive me,” he asked gently.

Q gave him a half-hearted, almost spasmodic shrug. “I told you: its okay.”

Bond shuffled around the table, pulling Q into an embrace, careful and loving. “It’ll be alright,” he murmured, cradling Q close to him. “It’ll be alright.”


	671. Chapter 671

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I prompt something that completely randomly popped into my head on the walk home from school this afternoon?? Q wears heelys. And he just heelys around Q-Branch and no-one really comments on it, and his excuse is “it’s efficient. quicker than walking” and just heelys out of that conversation??? Or something along that vein. I just really want Q rolling about Q-Branch. Thank you <3 – anon

To be honest, most people were past the point of questioning. The Quartermaster was ridiculously eccentric at the best of times; somehow it surprised nobody at all that one such eccentricity would be his forms of footwear.

The rest of MI6 were less accustomed. Anybdoy who had contact with Q begrudgingly conceded that they were not surprised, but the agents who only met him intermittently found him a ridiculous curioisity who probably shouldn’t have been placed in control of a branch of MI6 given that he had the mental age of a six year old.

The heelys were just a part of it all.

“What on earth?” Bond asked flatly, as Q zoomed up to him, toes up, gliding with utter confidence and no self-consciousness whatsoever.

Q raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Problem?”

“You look ridiculous.”

A small snort. “Says the man in a full suit. You’re not a banker, Bond, you’re an agent. Everybody has long since given up on trying to make you wear job-appropriate clothing; one of these days, you should consider going on sniping jobs in something less obnoxious. Might help you preserve cover for more than a handful of minutes.”

Bond could honestly he hadn’t seen that coming. “That was… unnecessary,” he settled on, composing himself. “Q, they’re… I don’t even know  _what_  those are.”

“Heelys,” the grown man said proudly.

Bond shook his head in quiet disbelief. “You are bizarre.”

“Yep,” Q returned happily. “I’m also moving at twice the efficiency of my compatriots, given speed and relative stillness of bodily functions; I’m less physically tired at the end of the day, which allows my mental faculties to run at full capacity. Thus, I would really consider myself to be winning, as compared to the rest of the idiots in this world who ignore perfectly valid technological functions simply because they are construed as ‘childish’. I have no interest. I get my job done, and it is at an exemplary level.”

Bond blinked.

Really, there was very little he could say to that.

Q watched him for a few more moments, wondering if Bond would actually be able to form a parry. Apparently not; Q nodded. “Good day, double-oh seven. I have work to do.”

At which stage, the man took a step away, and glided off.

Glided.

“You’re in your twenties.”

“Yep,” Q called back, and wheeled straight into his office, closing the door behind him.


	672. Chapter 672

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do one where Q’s mom is a witch and overprotective and she’s had a spell cast on him since birth that when he gets into grave danger he turns into a cat? Bond finds out of course and thinks it’s hysterical. – runemarks

Q returned to his human form the moment the adrenaline rush had died back, to find Bond staring at him, eyes wide, expression hilariously impassive for one who had just seen his lover turn into a cat.

“What just happened?” he asked instead, and Q again could only marvel at his clarity.

Q tried to find words, and settled, very simply, for: “When I get in danger, I turn into a cat.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” Bond returned patiently. “ _Why_?”

That was not quite the question Q had been expecting. “Defence mechanism, not under my control. My mother was a very powerful witch, she cast the spell so I would be able to – theoretically – escape any severe danger.”

“By turning into a  _cat_? Why not a bear?! Bloody daft idea.”

Q gaped. “So your problem is not that I turn into a cat, but that I don’t turn into a  _better animal_?!” he exclaimed, apparently more alarmed than Bond was. “James, are you not mildly interested by the fact that, you know, magic exists and I can shapeshift.”

Bond snorted. “Into a  _cat_.”

“Yes, a cat!” Q repeated, feeling rather insulted. “Don’t you dare insult my cat, me, I mean. It’s a good strategy. People tend to be so alarmed they back off without much question.”

“Yeah, about that – surely if somebody’s trying to kill you, being a cat is just  _not helpful_?!”

It was impossible to not both gape, and be a little bit pissed off. “Not my choice!”

Bond waved his arms in a way that probably supposed to be emphatic. “You’re mother’s a witch. Don’t you have, I don’t know, magical blood or something and could alter the spell?”

“Magic is a craft, not an innate ability,” Q returned primly.

Bond looked deeply, fundamentally disappointed. “So you’re  _not_  a magician?”

“ _How are you taking this so well_?!” Q yelped at him. “I didn’t speak to my mother for a fortnight and didn’t believe her for another month after that, and you’re sitting here discussing magical theories?! What is  _wrong_ with you?!”

“A little rich, coming from the cat-human,” Bond returned primly, still unfazed,  _how_  was the man still unfazed, it was ridiculous, “and anyway, magic is a legend-type thing, usually based in a truth, so…. I don’t know, I should probably be more surprised, shouldn’t I?”

“ _You fucking think?!”_ Q screeched. “Your boyfriend turns into a cat.”

Bond snorted. “A  _cat_ ” he echoed, shaking his head with highly amused disbelief. “Of all things Only you, love.”

“I hate you,”Q grumbled.

“Can I tickle your tummy?”

“Absolutely hate you.”


	673. Chapter 673

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is such an awesome thing that you guys are doing. Seriously, i could browse and read this stuff ALL DAY LONG. So, every time I hear the song Love Love Love by Of Monsters and Men I think of 00Q. I can never decide if it should be one of those times where Q (or Bond) really is that emotionally constipated or if it is just that they have been hurt too many times and are afraid to love again. Either way, the more angst the better. Is that maybe a thing that could happen? Thanks! – medievalbones

They had slept together, both merrily taking the night to enjoy and die little deaths in one another’s arms, and Bond had fallen in love with him and  _hated_  himself for doing so.

After Vesper, Bond had sworn to himself he simply would not fall in love again.

Except Bond  _was_  in love with him, and Q was in love with Bond too.

The latter refused, point blank, to admit it.

Q couldn’t afford to be in relationships. He was MI6’s Quartermaster, and not to mention, Bond was an agent; his life expectancy was incredibly short, a few years at best, and Q’s self-preservation instincts were all very much intact. Falling in love with Bond guaranteed mourning,  _guaranteed_  that he would find himself alone and with everything he had invested completely gone. It wasn’t like anybody else. There you risked loss, yes, but not like Bond where he  _knew_  they would not grow old or have children or have a life together, not for too long, and Q couldn’t watch somebody he loved die.

He loved Bond anyway. All efforts to the contrary didn’t change that Bond made sense, just  _made sense_ ; Q could trust him implicitly, love him implicitly, and they talked like old friends and it was like every story Q had ever read.

Every time he tried to pull away, something drew him back.

Bond just didn’t understand any more.

“Q, do you care about me?”

Q glanced up at him, feeling like a rabbit in headlights. “James, you’re my best friend,” he said quietly, slightly tremulously, hating the expression he could see in Bond’s eyes. “I… look, I, I don’t know. I trust you. I care about you. I can’t say anything more, I’m sorry.”

Bond nodded slowly, contemplatively, letting out a slow breath. “I’m in love with you,” he stated, frankly. “It’s alright, but you’re giving me mixed messages. I won’t ask anything of you. It’s mine to cope with. But – there have to be some lines, somewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Q said honestly, expression falling entirely, wishing he knew what to do, how to fix it.

“Why can’t you say anything more?”

Q wasn’t sure how to respond, whether to respond, seeking words.

“I…”

“You’re going to die.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, unable to prevent a small smile. “Well yes, aren’t we all?” he pointed out.

“You’re going to die  _soon_.”

“Cheers.”

Q rolled his eyes with pure exasperation. “You know what I mean.”

Bond smiled, and Q felt himself smiling too. Bastard. “Please don’t,” Bond murmured. “There is always something, always. There will always  _be_  something, but we could be happy.”

“That’s what frightens me,” Q returned softly. “I’m sorry, James, but I won’t. I can’t.”

Bond nodded, smiled slightly, brushed a hand over Q’s. “If you ever change your mind, I’m here,” he said honestly, and slid away, Q watching him all the way.


	674. Chapter 674

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super angsty!!! James and Q are kidnapped but James refuses to let their captors torture Q, instead he makes them do it all to him instead, bonus points if the torture includes sexual assault or extreme pain! – anon

Q’s greatest fear was being raped. Bond knew that. Q had been on earpieces of sexually assaulted agents – male and female – and after the incident with 002, had entirely broken down when trying to speak to Bond that evening, and hadn’t been able to have sex for weeks afterwards.

So when their captors started to watch him, the murmurs becoming obvious and Q growing pale as he worked it out, Bond took action.

“I would strongly suggest not harming him, he’s more valuable than me,” Bond told them, with laudable calm. “I’m very serious.”

Everybody’s interest landed on Bond. Q’s included; the man looked horrified, terrified beyond measure. “What are you doing?” he asked aloud, earning himself a vicious blow to the stomach, leaving him gasping for air.

“I’m just an agent. He’s the Quartermaster. And I’m his boyfriend. Put it together.”

They checked the information, of course, and found Bond was telling the truth fairly quickly; thus, Q was ignored in terms of physical harm, and they focused in on Bond.

Initially, it was a beating. Q watched as Bond’s ribs snapped audibly, the man grunting, but managing not to otherwise respond; Q was barely controlling himself, shaking violently with pure panic.

They put the pieces together. Of course they did.

Q couldn’t breathe as Bond was stripped impersonally, calmly. “No,  _no_ ,” he said quickly, betraying himself in an instant, bile rising in his throat. “ _James_.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” one of them purred. “Tell us what we want to know,  _Quartermaster_ , or we’ll fuck your agent raw. How about it?”

“Don’t you  _dare_ ,” Bond told him sharply. “Not over this. Q, this is too important.”

“I…” Q managed, trailing off. “Fuck, just,  _fuck_. James, I’m sorry.”

Bond didn’t say another word. Q could see him distancing himself, compartmentalising and filtering things away into different places,  making this so it wouldn’t destroy him. Bond was an agent, ultimately, and he had to cope.

As did Q, as it happened.

He did a lot worse than Bond. Bond was comparatively fairly calm; Q, meanwhile, narrowly avoided a panic attack, which mostly served to let Bond know he had done the right thing. Q truly wouldn’t cope. Bond tried to paper over the cracks as they formed – this was just physical assault, it was all torture, it was all the same, and hurt impressively less than having his testicles pummelled – and half-succeeded, keeping in mind Q. This was for Q.

Q was crying.

He didn’t say a single word to them. If anything, Bond’s rape seemed to be hardening Q against them, anger setting Q’s jaw in a harsh line. “I can assure you that any chances of my cooperation have now disintegrated,” he snarled, with as much force as he could muster. “You  _bastards_.”

One of them stabbed Bond through the hand.

Bond screamed, and Q retched.

-

They took far, far too long to retrieve the pair.

Bond woke up feeling like all hell had broken out across his body. Everything hurt, but at least in the foggy way that morphine could manage; he groaned elaborately, amnesia keeping him content for the time being.

“James?” a voice asked, with quiet panic.

Bond opened his eyes, focused on none other than his boyfriend. “Hi,” he rasped.

Q’s breath hitched violently. “Hey,” he replied softly. “James, you are an  _idiot_ , and I will never forgive you but fuck, thank you, and I hate you and I love you but please, never do anything like that again.”

Bond smiled as best he could, hand turning over to invite Q to hold it; he squeezed it comfortingly. “Love you,” he murmured.

He stayed awake just long enough to hear Q’s reply: “Love you, too.”

And, almost as an afterthought, so quietly Bond almost thought he’d imagined it:

“ _I’m so sorry_.”


	675. Chapter 675

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> q has been sick for the entirety of bond’s latest mission, but has kept it very quiet. by the time bond returns, he’s deteriorated enough that he needs to be hospitalized. – anon

Bond slid into Q-branch, to find Q being stretchered out. “What the hell happened?” he asked immediately, R fretting around, the man himself with oxygen mask attached. “Q.  _Q_.”

Q lifted the mask slightly, and smiled. “Sorry James, I’m okay,” he managed, before coughing violently, skin impossibly pale. “Okay, not  _okay_.”

A medic irritably placed the mask straight back over Q’s face; he rolled his eyes exhaustedly, before seeming to pass out in front of Bond’s eyes.

“R?”

“He’s been ill for a while, but refused to do anything about it until you were back,” she told him frankly. “Wouldn’t listen to a word of reason. Believe me, we tried. Unanimously. But, you’re home now, and he’s going into hospital for a while.”

“I’m following.”

R just waved him on his way. “M says he’s to take a full fortnight off, minimum,” she called after Bond, as he stalked Q down to medical as fast as his feet could carry him.

-

“Hey,” Q mumbled, eyes opening blearily.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “You,” he chastised, “are an absolute idiot. An absolute and complete idiot.”

“Yep,” Q replied merrily. “Complete idiot. Sorry ‘bout that.”

A warm hand gently mopped at his forehead, and Q practically  _purred_. “You’re on leave until the end of time. And then a little bit longer after that.”

“Am  _not_.”

Q was hilarious when he pouted. “Q, you were so terrible at looking after yourself that you managed to get into hospital. You’re an idiot. No way in hell am I allowing you back into work until I know you’re not going to work yourself to death.”

“It was to get  _you_  home.”

Bond bopped his nose gently. “Not an excuse,” he teased, and leant in, briefly dropping a kiss onto Q’s lips.

Q blinked. “Is that it?” he asked, tangibly aggrieved. “I half-die to get you home, and I get just  _that_?”

Bond laughed, leaned in, kissed him with lingering passion.

A small smirk. “That’s  _much_  better,” Q said approvingly, and pulled him back in.


	676. Chapter 676

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I love reading all your fills, I check in everyday for more! I have this silly thought that won’t go away. I just have this little idea that one (or both) of Q and/or Bond are ticklish, and kind of like being tickled (only by people they trust). Just something fluffy? I thought if anyone could manage that in character it’s you two darlings! Thanks so much!!!!! – anon

‘Like’ was a relative term, but it was  _fun_.

They both found out about it entirely by accident. Ish. Q was a troll at the best of times, and was – on occasion – what could only be described as a vengeful tickler. Rather than physical harm, he just caused utter physical torment.

Bond was ridiculously ticklish. Q theorised it had something to do with muscle density, sensitivity of nerve ending to non-blunt force or trauma, or some such bollocks. Ultimately: Bond had stupidly ticklish thighs in particular, and Q took great pleasure in tormenting the man.

It was chaos. Bond was very strong, and Q was very merciless, and Bond was so intent on not accidently hurting Q that he actually let Q get away with most of it until he reached a point of too-much and tackled the younger man to the floor.

“You like it,” Q told him smugly, Bond pinning him to the floor by the wrists, straddling him; Q bucked his hips up slightly, suggestively, and Bond kissed him with brutal passion. “Told you,” Q mumbled into his mouth.

Bond’s blue eyes were bright and cheeky. “So the question is,” he purred, “how do  _you_  feel about tickling?”

Q’s eyes widened in absolute panic. “Don’t you  _dare_ , James Bond. Touch me and I’ll kill you, I swear.”

Bond deftly transferred Q’s wrists to one hand, still pinned above the younger man’s head, and cackled delightedly. “And now you’ll find out, yes?” Bond purred, sliding his other hand almost-sensually down Q’s side, and grinning as he found a sensitive area around the ribs. “That’ll teach you.”

Q all but screamed, trying frantically to bat Bond off. “ _No no no no no no no no no no no_ ,” he screeched though laughter, letting out a wild cry, “ _I hate you I hate you no no no stop no stop James stop_ …”

Bond deigned to stop when Q was all but broken. “Not a tickle fan, then?” he asked, as Q gasped for breath.

“You,  _bastard_ ,” Q panted. “Bastard.”

“You’ll forgive me.”

Q growled, extricating himself from Bond’s grip, curling himself up into a cross little ball. “I’ll get you back.”

Bond raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Will you, now?”

“When you  _least expect it_.”

-

Three months later, and Bond found himself tied to the bed, Q half-naked, eyes wild. “ _I TOLD YOU I’D GET YOU WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECTED IT_ ,” he crowed, and tickled Bond until the man cried.

Literally cried.

Q had never been so smug in his life.


	677. Chapter 677

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooo! Please continue the one where Q gets wired in to deal with the hack, the one where he controls electromagnetic waves? What happens if he meets a super virus? Or a really corrupted file? – undercover-spirker

It was incredibly surreal, to see Q connected through to so many wires, so much slipping under his skin and against his fingers, his eyes closed and twitching very slightly, very softly, worlds moving around him.

“You look very weird.”

Q smiled, eyes still closed. “That as may be, I am currently connected to so much power I could short out everything in a ten-mile vicinity if I wanted,” he said brightly, “and that  _includes_  your phone and earpiece. Ooh, I could make them explode!”

“You’re a danger to life and limb.”

Another smile, this time a touch manic. “You really don’t learn – don’t insult me, James Bond, I don’t like it very much.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Yes, I…”

Q broke off.

“Q?”

“Shut up,” he snapped, throat closing, breathing erratically. “Fuck.  _Fuck_.”

“Q, what’s going on?”

“ _I said shut up_.”

R slid into the room, almost falling over in her haste. “It’s a virus, they downloaded a virus,” she said frantically. “Q, disconnect.  _Now_.”

Q had started to shake, entire body shaking. “C-can’t,” he mumbled, keening abruptly. “Shit. I can’t control it.  _I can’t control it_. I…”

Bond’s eyes widened, as Q let out a loud, shattering scream, hands flying to his temples; he took a step forward, more than prepared to rip the wires from him forcibly, if required. “ _Don’t,_  the shock could kill him,” R intervened, pulling Q back as he screamed again, body now vibrating, blood trickling from his nose. “Okay, this is killing him anyway. Ignore me. I’ll try and reroute, when I say you can, pull out the wires.”

R leant over Q’s convulsing body, starting to type, the screen sliding through options. “R, we don’t have time,” Bond told her urgently, as Q’s screams died back, whimpering instead, shuddering ridiculously. “ _R_.”

“ _NOW_.”

Bond didn’t hesitate. He tugged out wire after wire, the points of contact trickling blood at the rough treatment, Q letting out another short cry before collapsing sideways onto Bond’s body. “Medical?” Bond asked roughly.

“On their way,” R assured him, as the agent cradled his Quartermaster’s limp body. “It’ll be alright, Bond, he’ll be alright.”

Bond didn’t answer, Q’s breath shallow and hesitant, heartbeat so very faint, waiting.


	678. Chapter 678

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i read the female Q and male Bond and had to ask for femQ! having to go undercover and pulling a Bond. Having sex with the target. male Bond being extremely jealous. what happens between Q and Bond when Q gets back is up to you. – anon

Q let out beautiful, somehow melodic sounds as she faked an orgasm.

Definitely faked. Bond knew what Q sounded like when she was being honest. Or so he thought. It was difficult to say, and considering his deep and fairly undeniable problems with insecurity, he really did need to at least pretend to himself that Q was faking and could only be satisfied by him in bed.

Last defence of dwindling sanity. Bond kept watching the playback in the hope of working it out. By the end of it he was giggling with mild hysteria and desperately needed to see his partner.

Q took one look: “It’s nice to see you’re keeping your jealous streak under wraps.”

“I’m not that obvious.”

Q snorted. “You can see it from the next country, I felt the vibes as the plane flew in, and that was  _in spite of_  a fairly impressive panic attack. Priorities, James, I need a hug.”

Bond naturally scooped her into a hug. “I’m fine,” he mumbled at her.

Q rolled her eyes elaborately, not letting Bond and his bruised ego see. “It’s okay love, I know you’re uncomfortable with it, but I’m going to cite you and the Japanese prostitute in terms of my sympathy levels.”

“I’m not saying one’s better or worse,” Bond returned, kissing her briefly on the forehead. “I just find it very hard. Maybe it’s precisely because you don’t do it as often – sex isn’t as unimportant in those contexts. I’m worried about you as well as being, yes, a little…”

“… a  _lot_ …”

“… jealous,” Bond completed, a touch sheepishly. “Sorry. I just need to ask…”

Q rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s a yes. You’re better in bed overall, and god knows you’re better-looking, but yes. I orgasmed.”

Bond suppressed an expression of betrayal and/or jealousy and/or inadequacy. “Thank you for telling me,” he said levelly, instead, while Q suppressed a smirk; Bond was hilarious when he got like that, and while she probably shouldn’t be teasing him, it was almost irresistible.

“Calm down, darling,” Q smiled, giving Bond another kiss, looping arms around his middle to slide herself closer. “You’re my boyfriend. I love you. It’s the job, and you know I do it very often, and you know I don’t relish the concept either – so just get over it. We can have lots of loud raucous sex tonight, yes?”

Bond grinned, kissed Q again deeply. “ _Yes_ ,” he growled against Q’s ear, letting Q’s laugh run over him eloquently.


	679. Chapter 679

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My own personal head canon is that James is a quiet, but incredibly sweet romantic; that the charm is a tool for missions. I just picture Q being surprised by this, especially on anniversaries. Maybe you could do something along those lines? – anon

It was such a silly and lovely thing: Bond would show up with a small smile and a bunch of roses, honest to god roses, and Q would smile shyly and the roses would sit in a vase on his desk until he unwillingly conceded that they had wilted beyond all redemption.

Bond just didn’t seem the  _type_. He was a ferocious killer and serial womaniser and just, Q hadn’t really anticipated that Bond would be quite so  _loving_ ; for a man so bitter, so broken, it wasn’t an unfair assumption to think he would find it difficult to love again. Certainly find it difficult to be demonstrative in love.

And yet, Q had never felt so cherished in his life, and Bond wore his love on his sleeve when he and Q were together. True, perhaps nobody would quite see it, but Q now knew the softness that entered Bond’s eyes when he looked at Q.

“Dinner?”

Q glanced up, eyes bright and alive. “Definitely, if you’re alright with that? You just got back…”

Bond looked at him like he was mad. “It’s our bi-anniversary.”

Q’s eyebrows furrowed in faint confusion. “What now?”

“The mid-point in the year, the sixth-month mark. We did this last year too.”

“Yes,” Q said slowly, unconvincingly but somehow still inspiring a laugh from Bond. “No, I do…”

“We went out for dinner in the Italian place you like, and then stayed in bed for about two days.”

Q’s eyes widened. “I thought I’d just got very lucky,” Q managed, with a small gasp of surprise. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I didn’t join the dots at all…”

“It’s okay,” Bond promised, coming closer, bringing Q’s hand to his lips with a light kiss. “Honestly. I’ll sort out everything. Don’t worry about it, I’ll come collect you from here at seven?”

Q couldn’t believe he was quite as lucky as he was. “I love you, Mr Bond.”

Bond’s expression was everything Q could ever wish for; he loved Q, Bond truly loved him, and it was almost intimidating to realise. Q was not a romantic. Q was barely able to remember their actual anniversary, let alone the six-month mark, and in the face of Bond’s ability to buy truly stellar presents and bunches of flowers and remember his favourite meals and everything, absolutely everything, Q couldn’t help but feel he was grimly inadequate.

“If both of us were hopeless romantics, we’d be sickening,” Bond pointed out at one stage, with a slight laugh. “Q, you don’t  _have_  to be romantic. You have so many other things that matter far more than flowers.”

“But you  _want_  flowers.”

All five foot ten of sheer muscle just raised an eyebrow at him, and Q smirked slightly, feeling his cheeks flush. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Eight,” Q confirmed, feeling like a breathless and giggly teenager as his gorgeous boyfriend left his office, with the promise of a dinner out and another few days in bed.


	680. Chapter 680

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can’t remember if I’ve already sent you this prompt but I wanted to make sure. Could you write something where Q gets deaged and remembers everything and is really embarrassed because James has to look after him and despite knowing Q is still his mental age, treats him like a real kid. Maybe cause he had a little brother he told no one about. James and Q can be in a relationship if you want :) thank yoooouuuuu :D – anon

“This is, without a doubt, the single weirdest thing I have ever done.”

Q’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,  _you’re_  the one finding it weird,” he replied darkly, his voice high and reedy, infantile. No child that age should have that accent. “Bond, I am currently watching the world from the lofty heights of three foot nothing, and I truly do not like it.”

“I think three foot is giving you too much credit,” Bond smirked, lifting Q up and tucking him onto his hip.

The man was in the body of a five-year-old, or about that.

Really, the problem was that Q still had his usual mental faculties, and Bond hated it. Small children were manageable, he hated but could handle small children, but a small child with the mental facilities of the Quartermaster of MI6 was extremely creepy and extremely difficult.

“You need to go to bed,” Bond told him firmly.

The child looked at him, huge sad eyes blinking, expression moving into something more contemptuous. “I am only five physically.”

“And your five-year-old body is going to be exhausted,” Bond told him honestly, bopping his nose playfully, Q remaining in utter disbelief. “Nope, don’t look at me like that. Bed.”

Q’s eyes narrowed. “You do  _not_  get to tell me what to do.”

“You’re five.”

“ _I am not five_.”

Bond shifted the boy, holding him at arms’ length, grateful for his own strength and Q’s tininess. “Q, for as long as I am able to do this, we’re assuming you’re five.”

“I am going to kill you.”

“What, with cuteness?”

Never, in the whole of Bond’s life, had he seen such a young child with such a ferocious expression. “Call me cute again, and you’ll be going into field work with water pistols and near enough nothing else, do I make myself clear?”

Bond shook his head, carting the boy towards bed. “You’re cute, and you’re going to bed. Now.”

“ _No_.”

Q was mutinous and tiny and stroppy. “Q. This is your final chance, or you’re going to be in  _very_  big trouble, and I’ll ban you from the computer for the next two days.”

It was probably the first time in Q’s life that he’d been threatened with something so awful. He quieted right away, letting Bond take him to the now-enormous bed, curling him up under the covers.

The five-year-old Q didn’t speak to Bond for the rest of the week.

If it hadn’t been for abruptly becoming a grown-up again, Bond would have been getting the silent treatment for far longer; instead, a very grown-up Q rather maliciously destructed everything electronic that Bond owned.

That, he decided, was punishment enough.


	681. Chapter 681

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey could you write me something which is about how Q has a really ticklish tummy and in the mornings, when Q is doe eyed and sleepy with bed hair and defenceless and James likes to blow raspberries on Q’s belly and Q’s just giggling and trying to get away? (I found someone saying something about it happening between Derek and stiles from teen wolf and I started imagining it between q and James) I just want lots of fluff and sweetness thank you :) – anon

Q was possibly the most endearing, most beautiful creature Bond had ever seen, in the moments when he was half-asleep and half awake. While completely asleep he could look slightly sad, slightly distant; when he woke, the crinkle between his brows, the softness of a smile that quirked the corner of his mouth. “Morning,” Bond murmured to him.

Bond watched as Q yawned – looking a little bit like a mildly disgruntled kitten – and cracked an eye opening. “Morning,” he replied, stretching contentedly, hair splayed out and sticking up at all odd ends.

Bond ran hands along Q’s side, Q giggling like a child, squirming. “ _James_ ,” he whined. “Stop it!”

Of course, Bond refused; Q squirmed and writhed and laughed as Bond leaned in to his tummy  _no no no stop it!_  and blew a ridiculous, loud raspberry. “I’m not  _five_ , James, what are you  _doing_?!” he screeched with hysterical cackling as Bond’s fingers found his ribs.

Q certainly looked more awake now, trying to bat Bond away half-heartedly. “Stop, tickles,” Q pouted.

“Nope, not stopping,” Bond smirked.

The younger man whined, eyes now wide open, the scowl far more pronounced now. “J _aa_ mes,” he whined, the batting now becoming more noticeable as Bond continued to tickle him, Q gasping out in indignant shock as the man refused to stop. “ _James this isn’t funny stop it!_ ”

Bond could only disagree; it was hilarious, in fact, absolutely hilarious. “But you look so indignant,” he grinned.

“There’s a reason I’m indignant!” Q managed. “I don’t even have my glasses, this is  _cheating_ ,” he gasped, battling back, limbs flying every which way.

Bond shifted, straddling the younger man, pinning him to the bed. “Cheating, am I?” he asked, tangibly amused. “You call this cheating?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Q replied, trying to look as firm and authoritative as he could. “Let me go, Mr Bond, or else.”

“Or else?”

Q’s eyes narrowed, hair at all angles and perfectly disgruntled. “Yep. Or else.”

Abruptly, Q’s hips raised, body in motion; Bond was apparently caught off guard, and Q slipped out of his grip instantly. “Ha,” Q said contentedly, rolled at the opposite end of the bed, Bond taking a spare second to dive forward and re-grab him. “Damn. Alright then. Damn.”

“Gotcha.”

“I gathered that, yes,” Q grinned, before his head craned upwards, and he caught the other man in a kiss.


	682. Chapter 682

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt where Alec dies and James had to cope? – anon

Bond was not in the country. Q got the news long before he did, and spent the remaining two and a half weeks of Bond’s mission hating himself for not passing on the news. The funeral had to happen almost immediately, which meant by the time Bond had made it back to the UK, Alec’s name was carved onto a wall and Bond could only look at it dully.

“I’m so sorry, James.”

Q only ever used Bond’s first name when it was something bad, or they were in bed. Bond had reached the stage of slightly hating his own first name.

Thoughts were not staying particularly coherent, it had to be said, but fuck knew he didn’t want to actually think about anything. Not Alec. Certainly not Alec, who had deserved a better life than MI6 and, like Bond, had never wanted one. He’d loved MI6 just like Bond did, and they all died like this.

Bond would die like this too, one day.

So he looked at Q, let himself calm down, everything having to remain steady. “He’d hate us to mourn. Did the mission get completely blown?”

Q blinked, but didn’t question further. “Yes. We’ll need to start from scratch, and as you can probably imagine, few are interested in heading where Alec failed.”

“So I’m presumably taking over?” Bond asked, with the shadow of a smile.

Of course Bond was. Of course he was the only agent anybody was even vaguely considering for the takeover; Q smiled with a dash of apology, and as Bond laughed, Q laughed too despite himself. “Afraid so. We’re giving it a couple of months for everything to calm down, but then yes, you’ll be off there. You have leave in the interim.”

“I don’t  _want_  leave in the interim,” Bond said simply. “Is there anything else I can be doing, or…?”

“Well you’ve been banned from training younger agents, and there aren’t any short-term missions that you’re eligible for,” Q told him frankly. “You’re going to have to wait it out, take a few months, train yourself up. You’re going to need to be at your best for this one. Also, it’s our anniversary next month, and I want you in the country.”

Bond smiled despite himself, not quite reaching his eyes. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Training, then. Alec was presumably cremated?”

Q kept up with the vacillating subject matter admirably. “Yes, scattered from the roof, as per his last wishes. This land, this realm, this England,” he smiled. “And all that. We can have a memorial, if you’d like?”

“Yes,” Bond nodded, quiet, unusually quiet. “Yes. That would be good. I’m going to get raucously drunk on decent traditional potato-based vodka in his honour, and not think for approximately a week.”

“No, you will not. You’re not regressing on the back of this, I’m not having it,” Q returned, without mercy. “A few drinks, fine, but you’re not going to get catatonic, not after everything that’s been happening. Yes?”

Bond looked at Q. Really, properly looked.

Q deserved better.

“Alright,” he agreed, only a little reluctantly, and could hear Alec smirk in his ear:  _you’re putty when around him, you realise that? He suits you, you’re good for each other_. “Alright.”


	683. Chapter 683

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk, I’m super afraid of storms and we’re supposed to have bad ones tomorrow. Is there any way you could do a 00Q fanfic where Q is afraid of storms? I’d really appreciate that! And thank you so much – anon

Q was a grown man. He knew that. He knew to be afraid of a little bit of lightning and thunder and rain was completely daft, and he should really grow up a little bit and stop being worried and not flinch violently every time thunder rolled.

But. Q had never been good with such things, and apparently it was not about to improve.

Thus, Bond walked into their flat to find Q curled up on the sofa with earphones blaring very loud music into him; he leaned in, gently touched Q’s shoulder.

Q let out an animalistic screech, and toppled off the sofa, batting out wildly.

“Hello to you too,” Bond smirked.

On the floor, Q tugged out the earphones. “Sorry, what?” he asked, heartbeat going ten to the dozen.

“I only said hello,” Bond repeated, trying not to laugh outright. “Erm – any particularly reason for that reaction?”

A sharp burst of lightning. “Oh  _fuck_ ,” Q mumbled, a heartbeat before thunder crashed with cymbal-volume.

Bond watched with disbelief as a grown man cowered, eyes huge and glinting behind his glasses as he looked towards the window, at the rather impressive storm that was busy outside. “I… Q, are you scared of storms?”

Q looked at him, fear dissipating to be replaced by naked contempt. “No shit,” he said drily, before there was a whoosh of rain, and Q flinched again. “Sorry. Yeah. Storms. Definitely not good.  _Definitely_ not good.”

Naturally, Bond restrained his laughter, instead heading around to Q and bundling the apparently-terrified young man into his arms. “Darling, it’s just weather.”

“Yes, because I’m brilliant with direct sunlight too,” Q pointed out, still staring towards the window ridiculously. “Christ. This is why I stay in Q-branch. No windows, no weather.  _Much_  better that way.”

“You can’t stay away from all sunlight for the rest of your life.”

Q glanced at him with quiet, almost desperate amusement. “Try me.”

Bond smiled fondly, keeping Q safe; as lightning crashed, Bond let Q burrow into his shirt, hiding away, and Bond just stroked the top of his head lovingly, keeping him safe from greater demons than the rain.


	684. Chapter 684

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q fluff please: James has a high alcohol tolerance, but if he does get drunk he says hilarious/potentially-very-embarrassing-for-him-the-next-morning things. Please accept a zoo full of crazy australian animals as payment. – isthisrubble

Bond draped over furniture, blinking hugely, eventually moving to drape dramatically over Q. “You’re very beautiful in this light,” he mumbled, head falling into Q’s lap so he was looking upwards, Q watching him with amusement.

“Am I, now?”

“Yes,” Bond told him. “Far more attractive than Eve. You know, I always thought she was the most gorgeous woman in MI6… especially with a gun… love people who know how to work with guns…”

Bond’s Quartermaster ran a hand through the agent’s short cropped hair, smiling, hoping that various cameras were catching all this. This would be blackmail material for the next three years or so, minimum.

On his lap, Bond’s eyes wouldn’t leave him. “You are beautiful,” he repeated, hand reaching up, surprisingly coordinated as he cupped Q’s face, thumb running over his cheek; Q became abruptly aware of possible stubble, feeling his face flush very slightly. “Really. Beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Q told him brightly, fondly. “Alrighty then. James, you’re a little bit drunk, aren’t you?”

Bond’s eyes focused on Q’s face, looking rather affronted. “Oi. Not drunk. Not at all drunk. Bit tipsy.”

Q’s grin became wider. “So when I play you this footage in the morning, you’ll agree through your hangover that you were just tipsy?”

“Maybe drunk. You’re still pretty.”

Q laughed outright. “You’re a very different person when you’re drunk, Mr Bond. I don’t dislike it, by the way, before you get me wrong.”

“Date me.”

Bond looked perfectly earnest, and Q couldn’t help but gape slightly. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked, with transparent shock.

The agent smiled winningly. “Date. Drinks. Actually, make that dinner. Not drinks.”

“You – James Bond – are asking  _me_  on a date?”

Bond grinned, nodded delightedly. “Fancy it?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Yes. But only if you ask me when you’re sober.  _Only_  when you’re sober, because I’m not  _quite_  sure that you’re in your right mind at the moment,” he explained, with only a small note of chastisement. “Sound good?”

“Good,” Bond agreed, and fell asleep in less than ten seconds.

-

To Q’s amusement, Bond looked like he felt: fairly dire. Lights were evidently a little bright, sounds too loud, everything too acute, and Q smirked at him and waved. “How are we feeling, double-oh seven?”

Bond’s eyes narrowed at Q. “Did I ask you out?”

It was certainly forward; Q let out a small breath. It had been too much to hope for. He had known that. “Yep,” he said instead, chipper as required, his normal façade. “You did.”

“I, erm…” he trailed off, “well. Don’t remember what you said,  _but_  – you still up for it?”

Q nearly dropped everything he was holding. “What now?”

“I don’t remember many of the details,” Bond confessed, still looking very much the worse for wear, “but it’s not something I regret asking, so… what did you say? In response? Sorry if I’m badgering you again…”

“… yes,” Q replied, before Bond could finish. “Yes. That would be splendid. Dinner. Shall I arrange it?”

Bond shook his head. “I’m on it. Eight o’clock tomorrow, maybe?”

“That sounds excellent,” Q agreed. “Thank you very much. Now shoo, I have work, and you have a hangover to nurse.”

“Quite,” Bond muttered, and snuck away for coffee before anybody else could talk to him.


	685. Chapter 685

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you pretty please do a crack-fic of James and Q in a selfie war? I love your writing soooooo much :) – ottersandhedgehogs

“You look good,” Q admitted, looking at the photos on Bond’s phone; he had taken a selfie with a burning building in the background, and it was certainly very scenic. Q would be rather jealous, were it not for the half-dozen he knew were dying inside. “Desperately need a haircut though, it’s getting a bit ridiculous.”

Bond turned to him, expression one of palpable disbelief. “Are you seriously criticising one of the best selfies the world has ever seen?”

Q rolled his eyes elaborately. “Come on now, it’s not one of the best,” he said simply, bringing up an image of himself, looking absolutely gorgeous. “There we go. See?”

“I can do better.”

Q turned to him, eyebrow raised, expression ever so slightly smug. “Then do it, Mr Bond,” he purred, and shooed him out of the office as the phone started to ring.

-

After that, it was fair to say things got a little bit mad.

Bond sent over photos from everywhere he got to around the world, with scenery Q couldn’t hope to match.

On the other hand, Q had access to every filter under the sun and then some, which made it very difficult for Bond to look more gorgeous than him. It was definitely not for want of trying – Bond had the belated haircut, and it certainly helped – but Q could look everything from dictatorial leader to teenage boy, and all variations absolutely gorgeous to boot.

A selfie from the top of a plane very nearly toppled them.

Q upped it through one, very simple and absolutely devastating, selfie.

Bond’s throat went dry, his body almost trembling.

“Fuck,” he managed, swallowing uncomfortably, staring at the selfie in stunned disbelief. “Q, you went too far.”

“ _Did I now?_ ”

Q’s voice was utterly smug, which made sense.

“Porn is definitely too far.”

Bond, however, simply couldn’t stop staring. Q was gorgeous. Q was gorgeous and _naked_. Q was gorgeous and naked and  _erect_.

After a fair amount of staring, Bond was very erect too.

At which stage, things went from mad to completely bananas, and there were a very large number of pornographic images flying through cyberspace. Q-branch, of course, were supposed to be fairly aware of porn happening on the central MI6 server.

“Oh esteemed leader?” R asked, voice dry with sarcasm.

Q glanced up, raised an eyebrow in an unspoken query.

“You may want to have a word with M. You and Bond’s antics have come to light, rather unfortunately.”

Q paled, phoned Bond. “Bond, we’re in trouble. Also, I win.”

“You do  _not_.”

“Invite me to dinner.”

“Eight?”

“Excellent,” Q said quickly, as footsteps echoed through Q-branch. “Eight. I definitely win. I won. I have to have won, because I’m the one who’s going to get into trouble. I win.”

M appeared in the doorway, looking thunderous. “You win,” Bond agreed, and hung up, before he too got an absolute bollocking for exchanging porn during work hours.


	686. Chapter 686

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could we just have a piece where double oh’s are trained to be able to take a life and how it impacts James? – anon

The stories said that Bond would always remember his first kill. Supposedly, his first kill would linger in the mind and be somehow emphatic, but really, Bond had no interest in allowing a middle-man in a drugs cartel linger in his mind for more than the span of the mission.

Thus, the first kill Bond remembered was the collateral damage.

He had been thirty-three, dark haired and a little overweight. Wrong place, wrong time, nothing more than that. He had died without realising he was about to, and Bond only realised when the clean-up team reported an extraneous body.

Bond had known it would happen in the end, but he didn’t realise the man’s face would linger.

Then, there were the children.

Children died. Of course they did. Bond did not have time to pander to young kids who wielded guns or were sold or abused, he didn’t have time. Bond’s missions were to prevent more children being hurt, not to save those who already had been. Bond was not a hero. Their ages did not matter.

It somehow didn’t help, to know others would be saved, would be helped. It never helped.

Women, beautiful women with bodies and souls that were truly beautiful, dying in sudden and cruel and unfortunate and ridiculous ways, and Bond could not save them.

Occasionally, he pulled the trigger himself, watched wavy hair mat with blood, seep into puddles.

Killing children was not ever part of Bond’s technical job description.

It did not mean it did not happen.

Collateral damage.

Taking a life was comparably easy. Bond had no trouble sleeping, not when he had ridded the world of somebody abhorrent.

Sleeping was considerably harder when it was somebody he knew could have had a life, could have done more and been more, been better.

“Good mission,” M would tell him in debriefing, glancing through notes.

In some ways, Bond preferred the new M. He understood what it was, to kill, to watch light die in somebody’s eyes and know how it felt to be responsible for it. “It could have been worse,” Bond said honestly.

M nodded, with the weight of understanding.

“You’re dismissed for now,” M told him, and Bond disappeared, closing his eyes and watching faces flit across his memory, storing them away into the darker portents of his mind where he wouldn’t need to see again.


	687. Chapter 687

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond breaks into Q’s flat, because that’s what he does. But Q doesn’t live alone and whoever else is there gets totally freaked out that this stranger has just broken in. Perhaps they’re vulnerable in some way (child/elderly??) and Q gets really properly angry at Bond for doing that and scaring them! Thank you! – anon

By the time Q realised there was a problem, it was far too late; his father had started to panic, trying to get away from the stranger, crying out in a way that was definitely not safe for a man of his years.

“Bond, you absolute  _bastard_ ,” Q hissed, before twisting to his father. “Dad, it’s alright, I promise, I know him.”

The elderly man’s eyes didn’t leave Bond, wide and horrified, voice trembling as he tried to express the facts of it: he had broken in through the window, he couldn’t be a good person, he  _couldn’t be_.

It took a fairly long while for him to finally calm enough to go back to bed, and Q ignored Bond throughout barring a few angry comments; Bond stood well back, trying to be as inconspicuous as humanly possible now he’d cocked things up to such an impressive degree.

Q, when he returned, was practically steaming with anger.

“Q, I…”

“How fucking  _dare_  you,” Q snapped, and slapped him.

Bond staggered. That, he had not expected. “Q…”

“You break into my flat, and you  _scare my father_. What the  _fuck_  were you thinking? Why did you even break in here? What in the name of god made you think that was a fucking  _intelligent_  idea?”

“I didn’t…”

“No, I fucking  _gathered_  you didn’t,” he returned lividly. “Bond, get the hell out. I am  _beyond_  furious, and I need to look after my dad. Christ, I haven’t been this furious in  _years_ , I can’t…” Q let out a breath, shaking with anger. “I can’t deal with you right now. Fuck off. Just fuck off, and don’t you ever even  _think_  about pulling a stunt like this again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now go.”

Bond couldn’t quite believe how badly things has escalated, so quickly. “Please, Q, don’t…”

Q twisted, raised an eyebrow, very literally spitting. “Fuck off.  _Fuck off_.”

There was nothing more to be done.

Bond left.


	688. Chapter 688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey dolls, how’s everything? I hope you are both well and happy! I write you because I have a prompt: almost every 00Q ff I’ve read states that Q has no poker face whatsoever, so I thought it might be fun if the truth was that he only hides it incredibly well (for whatever reason, he, Bond, Mallory and Eve find themselves playing poker and he wins hugely. Bond’s reaction to that is asking him out of course…) I wish you a great week!! :) – fridatwin

“Full house,” Bond said smugly; Eve and Tanner both folded with grimaces of fury, which left Mallory – who’d folded at the outset – and Q.

Q was shit at poker. He had lost quite a bit of money so far – to nobody’s surprise – and had gone all-in for this round while looking fairly uncomfortable. Q had rather pointedly played it very, very safe throughout, and his money had been lost on stupidly obvious bluffs.

Bond smirked, and prepared to hoover in the rest of Q’s cash.

Except that the anxiety, the twitching, all of his tells evaporated in a half-second, as he spread out a straight flush across the table, and everybody gaped.

“ _Fuck_.”

Nobody knew what to say for a moment. “I believe you all owe me quite a lot of money,” Q stated comfortably, glancing around them with impossibly smug satisfaction.

“You…”

“Lucky hand,” Bond muttered, shaking his head in slow disbelief. “You… fucking hell, Q.”

Q shrugged, happily accepting the new pile of chips. “Deal,” he said to Mallory, who was stage-managing the game, and off they went again.

Everybody wrote it off, because, well. Q had managed a very good hand. Luck. Sheer blind luck.

The Quartermaster was very, very quiet for a long while. Rounds trickled past. Bond won off Eve, Tanner bluffed very poorly and very nearly ended up out altogether.

Then, Q started to raise. Raising large quantities, raising half his chips.

Tanner ducked out instantly. Mallory followed the moment he realised Q was betting high. The last time Q had bet high, he had a killer hand. It would be stupid to even try.

Bond looked at his hand. A single pair.

Another card dealt.

Two pairs.

Not bad, he could work with it. He matched Q, raised out of interest, watching Q match and keep going with tangible enthusiasm.

Eve decided life was short and this was getting serious, and thus folded.

Bond and Q looked at one another.

Q smiled sweetly.

Final card.

Two pairs, with a spare ten. Bond looked at it. Looked at the cards on the table.

If Q had a full house – which was possible – Bond was fucked.

He folded.

Q grinned.

“Thank you kindly,” he said with a smirk, and – just because he could – showed Bond the absolute pile of crap he had in his hands. Q hadn’t even scraped a high card.

He had, however, gotten most of Bond’s chips. “You little shit. You can bluff.”

“Yes, yes I can,” Q smirked, and raked in the money. “I’m out, boys and girls, I think I’ve done enough damage for one evening.”

None of them would ever look at him in the same way again.


	689. Chapter 689

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I have a prompt where after a mission goes wrong James is bound to a wheelchair because of spinal damage, and Q has to look after him? – anon

Q knew full damn well that it would destroy Bond completely. It was written in every line of the man’s body; he needed to have his mobility, he  _needed_  to be able to walk and move, his life was his job and his job was now over.

To his credit, Bond tried. For the first fortnight, at least.

After that, he got bored and angry and desperate and became an absolute nightmare to be around.

“James, please,” Q asked, extremely tired; there had been yet another international crisis that had kept Q in the office for about three solid days – he had wound up sleeping on the Q-branch camp bed – and really, Bond’s histrionics were a little more than he could bear. “I can’t… I know you’re frustrated…”

Mercifully, Bond was far more mobile, and had gained independence with relative speed. Q had spent a while helping him out, before they had mutually decided that they would need to spend all of Bond’s retirement package on kitting out the flat to be usable.

All the same, Bond’s pride was not merely dented but destroyed, and he just wanted to be able to run.

When Q walked in, Bond was just irritable, descending straight into a row about Q’s work ethic –  _it’s unhealthy, you’re never home and you’re clearly not eating properly, and –_  and Q couldn’t cope, just couldn’t cope with him.

If Q could, he would give everything for the chance to let Bond walk again.

“I hate this.”

Q nodded, pouring himself into his favourite armchair, wishing for a cup of tea that he would need to get up and make because god knew Bond wouldn’t  _despite_  the kitchen being refitted, because he was being a bloody child about everything and wallowing in his own disability.

“James, love, I know,” Q replied, as Bond watched him with tangible anger, sadness,  _loss_. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, but I don’t know what more I can do. I’m trying. I love you. I love my job. The two were never mutually exclusive before.”

Bond nodded, a touch stiffly. “I’m not trying to stop you working,” he said, a touch belatedly.

Q raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not, but you’re making it so much harder,” he replied apologetically. “I don’t want to upset you, I don’t want to make this worse, but  _please_  just let me work, life needs to carry on and I  _don’t know what else to do_.”

“I’ve lost  _everything_ …”

“I  _know_ ,” Q snapped back, and fuck but he was too tired for this, far too tired. “I know you have, and I’m sorry, I can’t  _keep_  saying this. I’m so sorry, but that doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me.”

Bond was very still, and nodded, again very stiffly, and wheeled himself away.

Q deflated in on himself, near enough in tears, crumpled and aware he should follow Bond, make sure he was alright, whether he needed anything, but he just didn’t want to move.

He heard Bond’s return, heard a clink. Glanced up.

Bond took Q’s hand, kissed it gently. “I’m sorry,” he told Q very softly.

On the table, Q smiled at the sight of a steaming cup of tea.


	690. Chapter 690

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey you two amazing people! so there are this song named terrible things by mayday parade what if Q were james and Vesper’s son, and one day Q asks james what happend to his mother. if the explaining is a little connected to the song you’ll get pie!! – anon

Q had been curled up in front of his computer in a tangle of limbs, brows contracted, happily busy; Bond had retired from MI6 while Q was still a baby, had spent his life raising and caring for the boy that was now showing himself to be a brilliant, very talented young man.

It was inevitable, that Q would eventually ask.

“Q, off the computer, you need time away,” Bond told him firmly; Q – he hadn’t been called by his real name in years, since Bond had realised he was a computer geek and nicknamed him after his old Quartermaster – glanced up with a mildly petulant expression, sloping away to chuck himself onto the sofa. “TV doesn’t count.”

Unsurprisingly, Q rolled his eyes. “Okay then.”

They sat in silence for a while. Q plugged himself into his ipod, and listened, fingers dancing in midair in lieu of his piano.

Abruptly, he pulled them out. “What happened to my mother?”

Bond glanced over, blinked. “That was abrupt.”

“I’ve wanted to ask for a while,” Q admitted. “You never really explained, so… yeah.”

Bond hadn’t wanted to talk about it for a very long time indeed. It was still raw, would always be. “She died,” he replied simply. “I know you know that. But, listen to me: life does terrible things to people. You mother killed herself.”

Q’s expression shifted in a heartbeat. “What?” he asked, very quietly.

“I was working for MI6. Met her on a mission – your mother was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in my life, and one of the first to be completely unfazed by my charms.”

The attempt at humour didn’t quite work. Bond pressed on.

“She was a double agent, it turned out. It was… it was complicated. She loved me, too, and her betrayal didn’t quite take off,” he explained gently, Vesper’s hair swimming in front of his eyes, bubbles of air from her breathing in, her red dress adhering to her body.

Q looked, unsurprisingly, devastated.

“But…” he began, trying to find words, expression apologetic somehow. “What about me?”

Bond smiled, very sadly. “You’d just been born. We had a good run, Vesper and I, a good year before that all imploded – you were being looked after by Auntie Eve, we went on a weekend holiday to Venice. I came back alone.”

Bond had the look on Q’s face, the betrayal that Bond understood all too well. “She loved you,” he assured Q.

“She killed herself.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t love you,” Bond insisted, trying to impress upon Q the importance of it. “She loved you, and she loved me too. I know it’s hard to believe.”

Q had curled up slightly into himself, tangibly upset. “I wish I’d known her, is all,” he said quietly.

Bond nodded. “I know,” he said honestly. “I wish that too. She’d be so proud of you, how you’ve grown up. God knows I am.”

Q shuffled up, tipping over into Bond’s arms. He didn’t speak.

Bond just held onto him, his beautiful,  _brilliant_  son.

Vesper lived somewhere in Q’s eyes, and that had to be enough.


	691. Chapter 691

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh! I love you girls! You must get that a lot, but that doesnt change my love for you. Anyway, maybe you could write one where it’s Q instead of Bond having nightmares. He used to get them a lot as a kid, but thought he grew out of them. Preferrably this ends in sleepy cuddles and nothing too angsty. Sorry, that’s sort of specific :( but thank you~! – anon

Q’s body was tense and wrought, every angle of his body on edge, letting out an awful whimpering noise.

Bond held onto him, cradling him closer. “Shh,” he murmured, soft and loving. “Q, love, calm down.”

The tension didn’t leave him. Q remained tense, whimpering frantically under his breath, twitching with intermittent spasms; Bond ran a hand through his hair, voice more urgent now. “Q.  _Q_.”

Abruptly, Q sucked in a gasping breath, body arcing as he woke, eyes terrifyingly wide.

“Q, it’s me, you’re at home,” Bond said quickly, while Q’s eyes ranged around the room, trying to establish reality, finding Bond. “You’re alright, love, you’re alright. You were dreaming.”

Q let out a slow breath, the tension slowly dissipating from his body.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked gently, still stroking Q’s hair, repetitive soothing motions.

Sleepily, Q shuffled himself closer. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Having lots recently, probably stress… had lots when I was little…”

Bond pressed a kiss into Q’s hair, snuggling him closer. “It’s alright,” he promised, tucking the duvet closer around them both. “Want to talk about it?”

Q mutely shook his head, eyes closed, yawning like a sleepy kitten.

There were very few things more endearing than Q when he was half-asleep. He was beautiful, apart from anything else; expression utterly peaceful, calm, the lines of stress and worry and work dissolved from his skin. Even the slight downturn of his mouth seemed less pointed, seemed somehow tranquil

Bond could watch him forever.

“You’re staring,” Q said with a small, cheeky smile.

In answer, Bond pressed soft kisses to his closed eyelids, brushing over the younger man’s lips, another kiss between his brows. “Yep,” he replied belatedly, coaxing away the dreams, keeping him safe.


	692. Chapter 692

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your writing! Could you do a 00Q fic based on the song “Life is hard” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros? Thank you :) – anon

Neither of them had wasted the time pretending a relationship wasn’t going to happen.

Q and Bond both adored one another. It was exceptionally obvious; from the moment they had met there was a spark of energy, and ever since it had crept up and eventually taken both somewhat by surprise.

They fell in love with naked abandon.

“You know you’re terrible for me?” Q smirked, kissing Bond deeply enough to pull him apart. “Absolutely terrible.”

Bond grinned madly. “Oh now, Quartermaster…” he purred, lips against Q’s throat, feeling his pulse bouncing madly. “Am I?”

“Certainly,” Q nodded, and sighed out with simple want.

Being with Bond was damned lethal. The man was a risk to life, limb – both his own and other peoples’ – and Q’s sanity was dribbling out of his nostrils with every passing moment, and he wouldn’t sacrifice a moment of it.

Bond was going to die very young.

Q was actually fairly likely to live for a while. Quartermasters tended to have a longer life span than agents, but even then, Q overworked and was one of the more valuable members of MI6. Ultimately: Bond faced all sorts, day after day, but Q was the kind of target Bond was paid to protect.

Death only takes one bullet, after all.

“Bond, can I have your position?”

“Usually on top, but that is open for debate.”

Q laughed, shaking his head at Bond’s ridiculousness. “Double-oh seven, you are ridiculous.”

“You have no idea,” Bond returned in a low purr.

Of course, that conversation preceded several hours of gunfire, stress, injury. Bond was helicoptered out by a decent evac team, Q was exhausted, the entirety of MI6 was stretched to the limits and Bond was just about alive which Q found honestly surprising.

Time limits. Time ticking. Bond would never retire, Q knew that, he would be involved in this sort of life from now until forever and that would have to be alright, Q would watch him die in action and Bond would watch Q exhaust himself into illness and overwork and eventually something or other would dispatch both of them. Soon enough.

Life is hard, but they had something. They had enough.

“Love you.”

Q grinned, pressed another kiss to Bond’s lips. “And you, you idiot,” he smirked. “Try not to die today?”

“I make no promises,” Bond returned with his own smirk, and waved Q farewell.


	693. Chapter 693

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, I have a prompt, and I feel ashamed of myself even asking (if you don’t feel like filling this, please know that I completely understand): in my evil AU, sociopath!Bond perceives as an actual human being only one person -his pet psychopath Q. together they cause chaos and mayhem, because the world may just burn and they’d probably laugh. D/s dynamics if possible. if anybody wants me, I’m hiding in that dark corner. – fridatwin

Bond was in the very simple and easy position of having no morals to tie him down. To be quite frank, it made everything considerably easier; the pressure was off, no concerns that seemed to distract and plague the irritants that humanity was created from.

That was, until the moment he encountered somebody who understood how it felt. That the infinite unnecessary idiocies of this world were just that –  _idiocies_  – and no, Q was not the same as him.

For Bond, they were above notice.

For Q, they required deconstructing, destroying. For Q, the imperfect world could be set alight, and he would stand above it, watching.

It was a damn good thing they liked one another, or they would have killed each other in an instant. Instead, they were fucking within about ten minutes of meeting one another, and nether had looked back since.

Q was not a very sexual being. He simply didn’t care, unless it gained him something, and there were very few people in this world who could give him anything useful; and so, meeting the sexualised agent was a truly wonderful thing. Satisfying in all possible regards.

“Bond, I have your target in sights,” Q told him, voice a low purr.

Bond was long since ready. “Give me my cue.”

Q was silent for several long seconds. “Show time,” he murmured, and there was a hail of gunfire across the comms, Q humming casually to himself while Bond took out everything on his behalf; after all, why have a dog and bark oneself?

“On my way back.”

“Ready and waiting,” Q replied delightedly, and entirely meant it; he was spread across their bed with legs wide, a plug in his arse, smiling absentmindedly with fingers tapping rhythms across the bedsheets.

Bond arrived an hour later, Q’s mind distantly thinking, slowly unravelling ideas with merciless precision.

He was still distant, smiling to himself, as Bond pulled out the plug and slammed into him. Bond needed this – the physical, the rough sexual dominance that Bond exerted over all of his conquests – and Q allowed him, was more than content to let him do as he needed, and it had to be said there were perks for Q too. Orgasms are always a perk.

Their world was mad and ridiculous and electric, and they made it work.

Q blew up buildings and smirked, while Bond watched with dispassionate interest and tended to be the one setting the charges.

It worked.

They would merrily take over the world, and it would be beautiful.


	694. Chapter 694

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I severely need some angst. Maybe a small one of a new double Oh who looks like a young James. Q unable to resist flirting and James finding out. the new double oh being smug. Q remorseful .. then James showing the young double Oh who was really in charge of Q. You two are such good writers. – anon

Jack was young, blonde, blue-eyed, sharp cheekbones. Jack was gorgeous, in short, and Q was rendered near enough putty given that he also had a fantastic sense of humour and could parry and spar like the best of them. Q had an intellectual match, conversation, and could drool in the background with as much dignity as he could muster.

“You’re flirting.”

Q flushed bright pink; there was near enough no way of denying it after that stage, which was something of a pity. He had tried. Definitely tried.

Ish.

“Why the  _hell_  are you flirting?!”

Q looked as repentant as he could humanly manage. “Well… I didn’t really mean to. I’m sorry?”

Bond strode away.

Jack found himself pinned against the wall by the lapels. “Back off my boyfriend.”

The agent looked honestly terrified. Not particularly surprising, but gratifying all the same. “I’m not meaning to double-oh seven, you have my assurances, no flirting whatsoever we were just talking it wasn’t intentional and I think I’m straight anyway so it isn’t a problem I promise I’ll back off completely sorry.”

Bond let him go.

Jack slid down the wall, half hyperventilating, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry for that,” Bond admitted. “Perhaps went a little far on that. But: you leave Q well enough alone.”

The younger agent stared at him wildly, nodded frantically, and scarpered the moment Bond allowed him to.

Q glared at him when Bond returned.

“It was necessary.”

“How on  _earth_  was that necessary?” Q asked, sounding genuinely pissed off for some reason. “The poor guy is being perfectly innocent. Just flirting, I didn’t sleep with him for fuck’s sake.”

Bond blinked. “You’re not seriously angry with me?”

“I’m  _extremely_  angry with you.”

It beggared belief, as far as Bond was concerned. “I was trying to make sure… well,” he trailed off, Q watching him with tangible scepticism. “I don’t know.”

“You insecure bastard. Talk to me. Do  _not_  bully other people. Ever.”

Bond hung his head slightly. “Sorry.”

Q watched him for another few moments. Nodded, with absolute gravity. “I forgive you,” he said firmly. “Don’t you ever do that again. Talk to me. Threaten anybody again, and I’ll be in bed with the first pretty thing that bats an eyelid, and I will not turn off the CCTV. Consider yourself warned.”

The jealousy burned somewhere deep in Bond’s body, pulsing and immediate.

He nodded.

Everything in him relaxed when he saw the returning warmth of Q’s smile, and knew he was forgiven.

(all the same, Jack was never again a problem. Bond couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little bit smug).


	695. Chapter 695

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I’ve down with the flu for sometime and it feels so horrible. I was wondering if you could do a fic where Bond is the one who falls ill and Q is the one taking care of him. – anon

No one, not even James Bond, could look sexy with a dripping nose and puffy eyes. He had managed three and a half days before M, Eve and most of Q branch had forced him out of the building and into Q’s tender loving care. The man was a nightmare at being ill.

“How much snot can a body produce?” he asked, looking curiously into a tissue, before screwing it up and throwing it in the direction of the bin.

It missed by a good few feet. Bond let out an elaborate whine of annoyance.

Q was plugged into his laptop, acting as loving boyfriend and Quartermaster, slightly weary. “A lot,” he commented from his perch at the end of the bed, laptop lead trailing out towards the port by the door. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ho’ble,” Bond admitted, lying back with a loud and dramatic groan that was usually Q’s prerogative; the agent had apparently decided that being ill justified even more substantial histrionics than usual. “How’s work?”

Q glanced over, suppressing a smirk at his red-nosed, red-eyed, petulant boyfriend. “Fine actually, it’s nice to be remote for a little while, although some of the weapons development tests are going to be delayed by a couple of days,” he explained with a light shrug. “It’s mildly annoying, I’ll concede, but R has the blueprints so hopefully it’ll work alright.”

Bond looked horrified for a moment. “I’m damaging your work?” he said, through a hideously blocked nose. “I’m do dorry.”

“Yes, I can imagine you’re very ‘dorry’,” Q returned drily, smirking despite himself. “I love you dearly, but I do need to work without you being annoying. I will pay all the attention to you in the world, but I do need to work.”

Bond pouted slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re ho’ble.”

Q snorted, and put down the laptop briefly to come over, lean in, and kiss his boyfriend.

An instant later, he pulled back with a face of horror. “I definitely miscalculated,” he said quickly, wiping his face from where Bond’s snot may or may not have smeared onto his cheeks. “Not good. Eww.”

Bond cackled with malicious joy, and settled back on the bed smugly while Q stropped back to his computer, and refused to talk for the next two hours.


	696. Chapter 696

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi lovelies, how’s it going? I hope this one finds you well and happy :) lately life has been kind of bitchy, and I am craving something nice and fun, just for the sake of it… so *this* came to mind. oh, well. hope you like it :P Club AU: James is a stripper (a very good one) and Q is the newly hired waiter -from here you can go pretty much anywhere you want ;) thank you for being you <3 – fridatwin

_It pays bills_ , Q told himself ad nauseam, looking at himself in the mirror; he was dressed in what officially was known as ‘fuck all’, but there were perks and he needed the money and this was  _fine_ , of course it was fine.

He let out a long sigh, and headed out onto his shift.

The strippers were certainly gorgeous, and it was a decently reputable place; one of a very select few male strip joints, and none of them were actual prostitutes which made a pleasant change.

A part of Q really did think it was probably immoral and probably wrong, but he was doing his level best to suppress those urges and keep going with it all. He could therefore smile and bring drinks and flirt a little and be accosted by middle-aged women and drunken students, which was all fine and he got tipped like nothing on earth.

“You’re new, then?”

Q glanced round curiously, to find a gorgeous man in even less than Q was wearing, smirking at him. “Yes,” he said slowly, glancing up and down the man’s exquisitely toned and made-up body. “And you are…?”

“Bond. James Bond.”

Bond extended his hand for Q to take, to shake comfortably. “I usually get called Q, actually… I had a name, once upon a time, but that’s another story…”

Q blushed, and Bond snorted slightly. “I like you, Q,” he said simply. “What brings you here?”

“Work,” he replied, with a small shrug. “I got fired, needed a job, and apparently I look pretty in a codpiece. Or whatever you’d call this. Although not as good as you…”

Q cut himself off, painfully and horrifically aware that he was rambling, and holy  _hell_  but Bond, James Bond was stupidly good-looking and precisely the kind of man Q was aware he would never get despite the fact that he would give his left leg to at least  _vaguely_  attempt a date with him.

Bond smiled, and – to Q’s amazement – didn’t seem to find him completely psychotic.

Q was aware that his throat had near enough closed.

“I’ll see more of you very soon, Q,” he said lightly, and winked. “I have to go take my clothes off for money. Wait for me at the end of your shift?”

Q swallowed. Nodded.

-

“So,” Bond grinned, as he swung out of his dressing room with considerably more clothing than previously. “A drink?”

Q’s eyes widened.


	697. Chapter 697

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first of all, I have to say I love you both, so much that words can express how much. I’ve been reading all of your works on AO3 as a way to escape this mad world (not everyone’s, it’s only mine)… I know with that writing of yours, this one will be the death of me. and I really love your works, your writing and everything. – my-one-and-only-fantasy

Vesper looked as beautiful as the last time Bond saw him, and he couldn’t breathe for a very long moment as he looked over the young woman tied to a chair who was watching him with as much disbelief as he was currently feeling. “Where’s Q?” he asked, his voice tight.

“He disappeared, should have been released,” she replied softly, and smiled very slightly. “Hello, James.”

Bond breathed out, and allowed himself the slightest of return smiles. “Hello,” he murmured, and the heaviness of years crashed around his head, painful and immediate and  _loud_ , her death and cold wet of her body, slick against his skin.

He had loved her so much.

Q was the air for him, now. His way of relearning to breathe and function. Q was light and sharp and brilliant, more than a replacement but an entity of his own, slicing through the morass that was Bond’s past and making him relearn to live. Bond had loved Vesper, yes, but she was an emblem of an old life and Bond had  _no idea_  what to do with that because everything in him  _screamed_  for her, but his Q was something all of his own.

“He should be free now, you can call him, Silva took him away to talk,” Vesper explained, with a shadow of grief for all they had lost,  _both_  of them had lost so much. “James, I’m sorry…”

“Not now,” he interjected sharply, delving through pockets for his phone. “Later. I need to talk to Q, make sure he’s out. Come with me.”

Vesper followed, while the phone buzzed out, waiting for Q to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” Q replied. “James?”

Bond smiled; Q sounded alright, definitely did  _not_  sound like somebody under strain. “You’re out?”

“I’m out,” Q confirmed. “Fuck. It’s good to hear your voice. I… James, I love you. Just so you know.”

“Of course I know,” Bond replied, looking at Vesper, dark hair curling around her eyes and Bond’s stomach roiling violently. “I’ll see you outside, just extracting Vesper, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

A moment of quiet. “Yes,” Q murmured. “Of course. Speak to you imminently.”

Bond hung up, and ushered Vesper out quickly, sharply.

There was an unmistakeable gunshot.

Instantly, Bond was running, and part of him just knew. He had no idea why and he had no idea if he was right, but he was certain, and he slammed open doors and his world stopped turning at the sight of his Q.

So much blood. An impossible, ridiculous amount of blood.

“ _Q_.”

Q’s eyes were closed. A shot to his chest, to his heart, but an imperfect one; Q was bleeding out, but not quite gone, not yet, his bright green eyes everything Bond needed and wanted and fucking hell  _why_.

“You love her,” he mumbled, eyes closing. “Be happy.”

And that was all. Q slid away from him without a further murmur, expression near enough of peace.

Silva would die for this.

Bond kissed Q’s lips – still warm, so warm – and started to run. 


	698. Chapter 698

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has broken his wrist while doing something at home but he doesn’t tell anyone at MI6 because he’s afraid they might think he’s not capable of doing his job anymore. And it hurts like hell, but he just goes on like this until the pain is barely manageable and people starts to notice, until a very pissed off Bond intervene. A little bit of angst is welcome. Pretty please? And thanks a lot for your amazing writing skils! – anon

Bond was definitely not pleased with him.

Q winced slightly, looking over Bond with his largest puppy-dog eyes and trying to pretend his wrist was nowhere near as bad as it was. Large quantities of morphine were coursing through his blood at the rate of knots, and it was enough to temper all but the jolts. Regrettably, it was nowhere near enough to keep him working. Q couldn’t type with his wrist out of commission. Q could barely keep his arm moving with his wrist out of  _fucking_  commission, and the morphine was beginning to get him a little bit spacey. Not to mention that medical had clocked that somebody was stealing drugs.

In actual fact, medical were rather grateful it was a broken wrist, rather than a latent drug addiction.

Bond was less delighted.

“Why the  _hell_  did you think that was a good idea?!” Bond asked, with tangible irritation. “Work is really _so_  important that you couldn’t take a little while off to have your wrist dealt with? You’re really so insecure that you think they’d actually take your job away long term?”

Q rolled his eyes, said eyes not quite focusing as well as he would ideally like. “As it happens,” he sulked, “yes. There are people at my level of ability who  _can_  currently type and didn’t trip over their own bloody kitchen table.”

Bond blinked. “You tripped over the kitchen table?  _How_?!”

“The leg. Table leg. I went flying. Wrist landed first. Not my most auspicious moment, and I’ve been working through it. You were in Gaza, not my fault.”

Only Q. Only bloody Q could trip over a table and shatter his wrist. Only Bond’s boyfriend could do something quite so monumentally stupid and not actually  _deal with it_. “It hurts,” Q pouted. “I liked my wrist in one piece. I feel a bit cheated, to be honest.”

“You should have got it dealt with.”

Q grimaced. “Spoilsport. In all honesty, though, I’m sorry. Also I had to get you home.”

Bond’s expression was one of extreme annoyance. “That,” he said firmly, “is absolutely no excuse. None. You are an  _idiot_ , Q.”

“Yep,” he replied neatly, smile a little disconnected. “Totally. Forgive me?”

Of course Bond had to roll his eyes. Of  _course_  he was going to forgive the ridiculous man.

“Never do it again.”

Q nuzzled into his front, smiling with his eyes shut. “Of course not,” he murmured, and let Bond carry him away.


	699. Chapter 699

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I request angst? Bond was water boarded on a mission, he goes back to Q but can’t take showers without freaking out. – anon

It didn’t even begin to occur to Q that Bond would have serious problems with showering. Not something so innocuous. Q had expected the nightmares and anger and erraticism, but he had  _not_ expected to need to sit cradling a grown man’s body in a lukewarm bath while the man tried to bear having water on his head.

No. That much was new.

Of course, they had to cope. They had to find some way to make it work, and if that meant Q crouched in a bath then fine, they would do it and they would make it better by increments.

After all: Bond had serious scars from a million and one kidnaps, shootings, all manner of nastiness. Most of them had left him with some residual unpleasantries, but  _never_  this kind of crippling terror.

This, quite frankly, was weird.

“James. Listen to me. You’re alright, I swear, I just need to get you clear – nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Bond seemed angrier with the situation than Q could have ever believed. The man was unapologetically fighting with everything in his being to not react, but couldn’t help it; the panic set in, and logic did absolutely nothing.

Q just waited for the storm to pass. It would, eventually, but it made Bond’s personal hygiene a little questionable for a while because quite frankly, Q didn’t have the energy to try and make sure Bond didn’t have a panic attack in the bath every time he washed his hair. The rest of his body was fine, but Bond just couldn’t bear water on or around his face.

“I want to try.”

Q glanced over at Bond, who was sat back with piles of newspapers around him, reading. He hadn’t looked up.

“Go on?” Q asked slowly, wondering what it was in reference to.

Bond took a breath, exhaled slowly. “Shower. I want to try and get through it. I need to divorce the situation from the reaction. I want to just damn well have a shower and see what happens.”

Q was quiet. “Well, last time you had a panic attack and nearly knocked me out, so I’m a touch cynical,” he pointed out lightly. “But – if you want to, we can find some way?”

Finally, Bond looked up. “Yes,” he murmured, and stood, clicking out his back. “Alright. Shall we?”

Q trailed after him into the bathroom, watching with something like sadness as Bond removed his clothing with almost angry abruptness, staring at the showerhead and breathing with manufactured steadiness.

The shower ran, and Q watched Bond’s expression utterly steel itself.

It was not a good experience.

Bond had a silent panic attack, clenched his fists so hard he managed to create welts in his palms and even split the skin on his left hand, cried, and Q just held onto him and looked after him and tried to make it better (and couldn’t) but it had to be alright, it had to be.

“Love you,” Q murmured, as Bond calmed himself down, heartbeat rabbit-quick beneath his skin.


	700. Chapter 700

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-con Q/Bond that isn’t actually non-con? Either someone (M, R, a minion) thinks it is or maybe their forced to do it? – anon

The mission had been going beautifully well, until the point when it hadn’t. It was a horrific mission brief to start off with – Q was in a position of risk from the outset – and when things went truly tits up, it was naturally just Q in the firing line.

Well, and Bond, but in a very different way.

Q had been undercover as the kept boy of an MI6 ally – to his extreme irritation – while Bond was integrating himself with the less than salubrious trafficking ring their ally was a part of. The ally would be extracted once Bond was established, theoretically, and thus they would have full surveillance on the group within a handful of weeks. Q could return to the UK, and all would be well.

“Hello,” Q said lightly to Bond, who had walked into his cell.

Bond slapped him, and Q toppled over, eyes wide and frankly disbelieving. “Bond, what are you…?”

Bond grabbed him up by the lapels, his voice rough and barely audible in the quiet rasp of his whisper. “They want me to fuck you. Vosyok is dead.”

Q couldn’t breathe, for a horrific moment. Naturally, there had been no actual sex on the mission – the sexual aspects were strictly only for show – so beyond a few kisses and public gropes (humiliating, and Q would ensure any and all footage was burned to cinders), Q had never expected anything more.

“No,” he said simply, voice closed and livid.

Another slap, Q wrenched up by his hair, flailing in disbelief and shocked by the sheer  _strength_  of the man. “This is our in. Play along,” he hissed, before, in full voice: “You belong to me, now.”

Q’s expression contorted, his brain struggling to keep up, tripping and tripping over itself, Bond harshly kissing him, Q’s eyes widening almost comically at the sensation. This was not part of the brief, this was  _insane_.

“Get off me,” Q rasped, kicking back, trying to get himself away and holy  _fuck_ , but Bond was strong. “I said  _get off_ , I won’t let you do this, I’m not…  _help me_ ,” he screeched, wondering dimly if Bond was still bugged or not, whether MI6 were listening in or could see what was about to happen.

It was about to happen.

Q’s brain was no longer connecting in the slightest, deciding instead to take a necessary holiday and hum very loudly in almost malevolent disbelief as Bond ripped his shirt open  _shit that was a nice shirt_ Q thought absently and wondered why in the name of god  _that_  was his only thought, as buttons bounced off the floor and his trousers were wrenched away, touching and tasting and feeling an Bond’s hands were almost-gentle (gentler than expected) and Q’s mind hummed louder and louder.

“I’m sorry,” said the almost inaudible rasp, and then there was nothing, and the humming became very loud indeed and Q knew the sobbing was him.

Quiet, stillness. “ _Good work, double-oh seven,_ ” he said on a breath, as Bond stood.

Bond looked back to him with razor sharpness, almost disbelieving, and Q’s expression didn’t change out of manufactured horror.

He may or may not imagined the wink.

There was just the slightest shadow of a nod, and that was enough.


	701. Chapter 701

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love your writing! You’re fantastic! <3 Could I ask for a fic in which Q is a transman? One of the conditions for working for MI6 was that all his files would show his preferred gender with no trace back to the sex he was assigned at birth, so literally no one knows (aside from maybe M). But then Bond starts flirting with him, and he feels like he should tell Bond before their relationship gets serious. What is Bond’s reaction when he finds out? – anon

Bond kissed him, and Q felt like somebody had taken the ground out from under his feet and sent him spiralling in heartbeat; Bond was everything Q had ever hoped for, dreamed of having in his life, and he couldn’t quite believe the man actually wanted him.

Except, falling for a man had one definite issue: he would, at some stage, need to tell him.

He invited Bond in for coffee after a very successful and incredibly lovely date – Bond had taken him to dinner, wined and dined in the old-fashioned sense – and sat him down, heart hammering in his chest while Bond stayed very still and just watched him, waiting.

“I have something to tell you.”

If anything, the tension in Bond’s body ramped up a notch or twelve, and he nodded slowly.

Q let out a slow breath. “I want to preface this by saying that I’m not… I’m not expecting anything, and I know it’ll be weird.”

Slowly, stiffly, Bond nodded.

In the end, it was easiest to just take the plunge: “I was born female. However, I have identified as a man for the majority of my life, have had the requisite surgery, and live –  _am_  – a man.”

Q waited, honestly more afraid than he could remember being, and Bond just raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t say anything. Q had forgotten how to breathe.

“Is that it?” Bond asked simply.

Q’s confusion was immediate and palpable. “Sorry, is what it?” he asked, beginning to feel a little alarmed, and he was fairly certain he was about to go into full-blown cardiac arrest. “I’m sorry, and please know I really care about you, and I can explain more about it if you like and…”

Bond held up a hand. “I meant – I thought it would be something far worse than that,” he said, with a simple smile. “You are a man, and a beautiful one. I thought we had rather established that I don’t care about your gender. You were and are my sexuality crisis, and as far as I’m concerned if you’re a man, you’re a man. If that makes sense.”

Q blinked. Remembered how to breathe a heartbeat before he passed out.

“So… you’re okay with it?” he asked slowly, just to confirm, just to try and make sense of it because this was mad, this was ridiculous. “I mean, all of it? You’re okay?”

Bond shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, sounding near enough  _confused_  by Q’s reaction. “Are you alright?”

There were no words for how Q was. None whatsoever. He was better than alright,  _infinitely_  better than alright, but definitely struggling with the weirdness of Bond’s reaction because  _nobody_  reacted like that, nobody at all, and this was just  _weird_. He had no way to voice that in the slightest.

Q settled for kissing him senseless instead.


	702. Chapter 702

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt! I really love the idea that Q is actually working for another dark organization and is using MI6 to gather information to take the British Government down. However, I’d love to see James knowing this all along. In fact his “You’ve got to be kidding me” line is actually him recognizing Q from a previous encounter with the organization. Q thinks James is actually falling in love with him and is uses this to gain trust, but in reality 007 is seducing another target who has no idea he knows. – anon

Q had double-oh seven precisely where he wanted the man, and it was satisfying in a way Q had no words to describe; he had never imagined that this would be a facet of his casual integration into MI6, but apparently, he had attracted and maintained the attentions of possibly the most prolific agent of the lot.

Even better: the man seemed to be actually  _in love_  with him, which was both an excellent boost for the ego, and a way of sliding himself yet further into the intricacies of MI6. The agent was gorgeous, excellent in bed, and useful. Q could not have been happier.

-

Bond had Q precisely where he wanted the man, and it was both bizarre and brilliant; he had recognised Q from the off – somebody looking Q’s age, and with his skills, was a fairly rare commodity – and things had degenerated from there. MI6 had a mole, and Bond had an excellent side-project of a mission going surprisingly well.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Bond murmured, after a fairly good orgasm, Q lying sated and well-fucked across his chest.

Q made a noise like a contented cat, and nuzzled in closer, falling asleep almost instantly.

Bond could not have been happier.

-

It came as something of a surprise, to have been incarcerated in an MI6 cell with Bond sat opposite him, every shadow of care or mercy entirely gone from the man’s expression. “You are working for Raoul Silva.”

Q blinked.

_Fuck_.

“James, I don’t understand.”

Bond rolled his eyes elaborately; this would be the boring part of the proceedings, where Q tried to insist that he was who he said he was, and that he loved his partner and this was all a mistake and Bond had got everything wrong.

“Again: you are not who you say you are, and you are hostile to MI6. This is not up for discussion. I want a verbal confirmation that you are currently under the employ of Raoul Silva.”

Q’s expression was gradually, quietly closing down. “You seem to have already made up your mind.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, unable to resist a slightly self-satisfied smirk. “I knew from the moment I saw you,” he said simply. “Silva has a  _type_ , and I have actually seen you in person before – a mission in Malaysia, I had to deal with some of your associates, and saw you en route.”

“You…” Q trailed off, looking –  _finally_  – completely and utterly shocked. “Shit. You knew from the outset? You and I… we…”

“All a ploy,” Bond told him, without the slightest shadow of apology. “As it was on your part. Now, putting that behind us: where can we locate Raoul Silva.”

Everything Bond knew of Q had entirely disappeared.

Instead, his once-Quartermaster crossed arms over his chest, jaw set in a thin line, and stared at Bond without the slightest intention of saying a word.


	703. Chapter 703

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a hurt Q - maybe he had been kidnapped and tortured for a while - and all the double ohs are raging about it (especially Bond) and comforting because they’re all secretly really protective of Q. Your writing is wonderful :) – anon

Q had been shattered into fragments, now left scattered across the floor of the room he had been kept in for the past several weeks, left to bleed out and sob and wait for death to swallow him whole.

“You took your bloody time,” he rasped – tried to rasp – when Alec’s face swam into view, and promptly passed out once again.

Now, the double-ohs had pitched up outside medical, and were intending to stay there for the foreseeable future. “He shouldn’t be working on missions where he’s at that sort of risk,” 001 was ranting, her hair falling into her eyes, and they all flashed glares of absolute murder at M whenever he passed because it was  _his fault_ , he should never have allowed the Quartermaster out where he was at risk.

Except that Q had been working on a mission while based in the UK, and had been abducted while going home from work. Nobody had anticipated it, and nobody could truly have stopped it.

Now, he was a wreck, had not woken up for three days, and the double-oh agents were just getting more aggressive by the hour. They needed a scapegoat for Q’s harm, and they found it wherever they were able.

Q was rather smug about the whole affair; after all, he had a host of double-oh agents all vying for his attention and caring for him utterly, and that was definitely a gratifying feeling.

Bond was, of course, the most constant. “You arse,  _now_  you decide you like me?” Q mumbled at him, high on a delightful amount of painkillers and smirking madly as Bond leant in and kissed him senseless.

Until the moment Q’s heartbeat apparently triggered a kaleidoscope of pain across his ribs, which was definitely less good. 001 nearly killed him for upsetting Q, and Q just lay there feeling rather spacey and wondering if painkillers had hallucinogenic effects.

Apparently they didn’t, given that Q was weaned off them, he found that the entire double-oh collective hadn’t left for days. “Don’t you all have jobs to do?”

003 was the one to answer. “We’re supposed to protect national security. You’re the most important aspect of national security. We’re doing our jobs perfectly.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Inaccurate, but certainly flattering. I’m quite alright, boys and girls, so all of you need to go back to various international missions. 008 is…?”

“Deep cover, I’ve contacted him,” 009 replied easily, waving a phone.

They were all ridiculous.

“Thank you,” Q said gently, and let all of them look after him.

After all, don’t look gift horses in the mouth.


	704. Chapter 704

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies!! LOVE your fics! When you have time, could you maybe do a fic where Q doesn’t know how to swim and for whatever reason Bond and Q end up in the ocean and Q clings to Bond for dear life and Bond just finding it extremely adorable and uses the chance to grope him? – anon

It had actually been fairly comical, the way that Q had careened off the side of the ship, with the only thing audible his voice disappearing as he yelled “ _I can’t swim!!_ ”

Of course he couldn’t. Of course, the kid who was afraid of flying couldn’t actually take a boat because if anything went wrong on the boat, he would die  _that_  way instead. Really, keeping Q alive seemed to be bordering on a full-time occupation, and Bond wasn’t quite sure there was enough he could do to keep the kid alive.

Either way, he at least had to make sure his lover didn’t drown in the imminent future, and so he dived off the edge of a ship into the ocean while internally bitching about the pure bloody stupidity.

Q was halfway underwater, flailing manically. A few confident strokes brought Bond to his side, and Q grappled to Bond like a wombat gone wrong while Bond snorted to himself and tried to keep them both afloat long enough for the lifeboat to get to them.

In the meantime, Q just made hysterical squeaking noises, and Bond tried to soothe him.

Eventually, Bond just got bored. The lifeboat would be another couple of minutes, and he was more than capable of treading water in that time; he stripped Q of his now-sodden and very heavy cardigan, shrugged off his own jacket (Armani, he had  _liked_  that jacket), and proceeded to track his hands along Q’s cold and sodden body.

“ _This is not the moment_.”

Bond begged to differ; the way Q was wriggling was absolutely intoxicating, and left him with no conceivable reason to not keep going right along with what he had been doing, trailing towards Q’s cock and fondling with a wide smirk of satisfaction.

Q was gasping and blushing and trying to bat Bond away and half-sinking and yelping and clinging back on again. “James,  _stop it_ , grope me later when I’m not about to drown,” he pleaded with mild hysteria, until the moment Bond awkwardly pressed a kiss to his lips, trying to keep them above water and getting salt in both their mouths.

It was a valiant effort all the same.

Bond had never seen Q as relieved as when the lifeboat finally pulled up, hauling Q out of the water and into a warm shock blanket, and there was the promise of imminent tea. Bond grappled himself out of the water a moment later, wrapping himself up into his own blanket – it was fucking  _freezing_  – and watching Q with careful attention.

Q pouted. “Thank you,” he muttered, a little disconsolately.

Bond grinned. “By all means,” he nodded, and brought Q’s hand to his for a quick kiss.


	705. Chapter 705

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write something about James having to sleep with Q for a mission, and it’s Q’s first time and he’s terrified? NSFW please? Thank you so much, I love your writing! – anon

“Bond, I truly hate to say this, but I am not convinced I will be capable of doing this.”

It was a mercy that there was no audio hooked up to their room. However, there was a terrorist group currently waiting to see James Bond actually have sex with the man he was feigning a relationship with.

Bond, currently blocking Q’s face from the camera’s view with his own body, raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Q’s jaw tightened to an almost lethal extent, and his voice was bitten-off and defensive: “I have not had sex before. In fact, I consider myself asexual, and this is entirely  _not_  what I was hoping for insofar as my first sexual experience goes. If ever. In essence, I am not wholly convinced I am capable of it.”

For the purposes of the camera, Bond kissed around Q’s pulse points, lips dancing over his ear: “Q, this is for a mission. Those kinds of things have to be put to one side, or we will blow this.”

It took a moment. A tense, angry moment wherein Q tried to temper instinct and make anything make sense, and Bond kissed him with extraordinary care and that was what made the difference: Bond would make this as manageable as he was able, and that would be enough to allow Q’s sanity to move through.

He kissed Bond back.

The tension in the agent’s body drained a little, fractionally, but the man mercifully continued to take the lead; Q had no idea what he was doing, which would be laughably obvious unless Bond managed it very carefully indeed. “At least  _pretend_  you find me attractive,” Bond teased, the humour lilting his voice, and Q let out a slightly hysterical laugh but a laugh all the same.

To Bond’s surprise, it was fairly easy to get Q aroused; he had honestly no idea what to expect from somebody who considered themselves ‘asexual’, and had assumed it would be extremely difficult to make them aroused in any way or form. Perhaps a conversation for another point, he mused, as Q raised a red mark on his throat that Bond knew would stay for days.

“I’m not sorry,” Q smirked, and the lightness was encouraging, everything Bond needed to help strip Q down to a delicate and beautiful nakedness, Bond following to leave rugged edges and precision.

For all his words, Q’s pulse was a hummingbird’s wings, and Bond knew the man was more fragile than he wanted to let on.

“Trust me,” Bond murmured, as he found lubricant, played with Q’s body and found himself pleasantly surprised. “I’ll look after you.”

Q closed his eyes, and placed all of his trust in James Bond, wondering – vaguely – if this was the most idiotic idea of his life.


	706. Chapter 706

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 007 and Q are both famous actors, married for a year or so, who have recently starred in a film together. They both go on a chat show together and sit down normally, but end up leaning on each other. Lots of fluff please (p.s. I love your work) – anon

“I guess you both enjoyed working together?” the interviewer asked companionably, as the pair of them sat by one another.

Q hated interviews. He always had, and always would, and so he plastered on the best excuse for a smile he could feasibly manage and let Bond answer the bulk of the questions while he sat awkwardly and rather wished that this was not a part of general fame.

Bond was in his element, or so it appeared. He had the irritating yet admirable ability to talk to near-enough anybody, companionably answer and laugh and make jokes that were actually funny and didn’t make him seem like a twat, which was something Q was generally incapable of doing in his own fine opinion.

“…the film has been getting mass acclaim, how are you both dealing with the pressures?”

Q answered, mostly because Bond squeezed his leg to indicate he probably should. “I’ve never been of the opinion that my job is to act, and I find it a little bit weird that everybody is so fascinated with it.”

Bond rolled his eyes, and smirked at the somewhat baffled interviewer. “I personally can weather these things a little better, but naturally I support Q as much as I’m able; it is an odd thing, but we just want to make the best film we’re capable of doing, and Richard has been a brilliant director…”

Q nodded with tangible enthusiasm, shuffling a little closer to Bond as the cameras blinked and his smile became a little more uncertain. He was fairly sure his previous answer had been something of a misstep.

For god’s sake, he acted because it wasn’t  _him_  having to make up the lines. Usually, Q had a script and a character and a persona, and this was him instead, expected to strip himself down to who he actually was and talk with some degree of eloquence.

Bond was his touchstone, and Bond was perfectly comfortable to pull Q a little closer to him, a casual and unobtrusive intimacy that made the interviewer smile with genuine joy that Bond more than easily reciprocated.

It was not easy, being a couple in the world of cinema. They alienated and angered a good deal of people.

Yet, it was precisely that which had brought Q to the interview. To demonstrate that it was nothing to be ashamed of, that falling in love and working and  _being_  was enough for anybody, and this could work.

Bond held onto him, and Q let himself relax, safe in Bond’s closeness.


	707. Chapter 707

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a fic where Q is the new quartermaster and he’s only about 19 so all the double ohs are pretty skeptical and give him a hard time (bond being the main double oh I suppose). Thank you for everything you write you’re the best :)! – anon

Q was close to committing semi-licenced homicide. “What is it  _now,_  006?” he asked as Alec gave him an uncertain look.

"I’m just not certain this is enough for my current mission…" Alec tried, slightly pitying, tangibly patronising the very young man who was supposedly capable of outfitting grown men on dangerous ventures. "Maybe if you considered asking someone…"

"I am your bloody Quartermaster!" Q snapped, fingers itching towards his personalised taser, with the distant thought that he could probably justify it to M if he tried hard enough. "I know what I am doing. I have read your mission briefs, probably far more than you have, and I am aware what you will need. Is there a problem?"

Alec raised an eyebrow, glancing over the equipment, and picking them up with severe distrust. “I’ll just take this, then,” he said pointedly, and left, leaving Bond watching in the doorway.

The pair of agents exchanged looks, and Q once again considered whether he could kill the pair. Maybe a well-placed bomb.

“How’re the spots doing?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “As previously mentioned, my complexion has no bearing on my aptitude. Do you have anything of interest to say?”

“You’re nineteen.”

A brief eye roll; Q had known, he had just  _known_ , this would come up. “Yes, I noticed, oddly enough. You’re not.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of doing this job.”

Q’s expression was sharp and livid and angrier than Bond could believe. “How  _dare_  you cast aspersions on my abilities,” he snapped. “I am an extraordinary computer technician, can dismantle most technology in a handful of minutes, could probably explode at least four things in your general vicinity, and I even managed to be socially adept. You will respect me, respect my equipment, and respect my job.”

Bond looked nothing short of shocked.

“Yes, look at that, I have a spine too,” Q said drily. “Get the fuck out of my office.  _Now_.”

There was a moment of suspension. Q knew he was holding the situation simply through obstreperousness and eye contact.

Bond finally nodded, once, and slid out of the room.

Q just about saw the vaguest traces of a smile, and knew full well that Bond was just about beginning to understand; he was extraordinary at his job, and Bond would know. Bond would damn well  _learn_.

"Q, you’re needed out here," one of Q-branch called.

With a great degree of satisfaction, Q strode out past Bond, and led his branch through another crisis.


	708. Chapter 708

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can I have a song fic prompt please? Summertime sadness by Lana Del Rey. Trillions thanks if you make one. and gosh, I worship the ground you walk on. your writing is absolutely devine! – anon

Bond kissed him with the ferocity of the ocean itself, expansive and deep and harder than Q could believe, and it was a goodbye and hello and an ending and all was beautiful and awful because Bond was dying.

It was the oddest of deaths, simply because it was in no way permanent and no way defined; Bond was dying, faster than anybody else in the world, ready to tilt over the edge when a stray bullet nicked the wrong artery or he didn’t find an antidote in time or when his heart stuttered one too many times.

The light was beautiful. Everything was. Q smiled in the sun and went Bond’s warmth against him. “Yeah, I always thought you’d die in sunlight,” he said absentmindly, as he idled in their battered old car. “Wish you’d been a little closer, though, earpieces are a bitch for goodbyes.”

Perhaps it made him a little mad, to talk to nothing, but it worked for him on days like this, when the sun was heavy and lethargic, and it became a little bit harder to breathe. It was simpler to talk to nothing than to say nothing in the first place.

Q’s thoughts stuttered, and he let out a slow breath, returning his attention to the road while phone wires danced in the minimal breeze. “So. I’ve had an interesting few months. Your absence was a nightmare of paperwork and I didn’t sleep for about a fortnight – not something I’d recommend, incidentally – and things are calmer now, which is why I’m doing this now.”

The road played ponds of mirages, the tyres splashing through into nothing and the road hissing with heat, Q’s blood boiling under pressure in the compressed heat of a car which the aircon had died in ages ago, and Bond had always said he would fix it but he  _never did_.

He never had.

Q pulled over.

“I hate this,” he whispered at the dashboard, the dashboard he had personalised himself and made to Bond’s spec. Bond had adored it, and they had sex in the backseat when it started to rain. “I miss you, James.”

A moment. A handful of moments.

Q sparked the engine, and pulled back onto the road, breathing carefully. “Well,” he said lightly. “Sorry about that interlude. Anyway. I’m going to Skyfall, you know, in case you were wondering. Better late than never, you were always going to show me. So, I’ll see you at home.”

The road went on forever, and Q just continued driving.


	709. Chapter 709

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you could be so kind, I just really want to read something with this quote. “If you are a good person— genuinely good— and you are of service in this world and you have a life that is yours and that you like and that matters and it matters to you and you don’t need anybody, when you don’t need anybody, someone will come and fuck that up with their love.”— Greg Behrendt – anon

Sitting back, Q let out a slow breath. Quartermaster. They had given him Quartermaster, and it was entirely his: no boosts up the ladder, no nepotism, nothing but his own hard work and talent.

He had joined MI6 aged just sixteen, already with a degree in computer science. Starting with photocopying and making coffee, and eventually making his way up through the ranks. Q had lost weekends, Christmases, weddings and even a funeral for this job; he needed this job, it was his sanity and his future and he loved it beyond all human reason.

So of course, of  _bloody_  course, there was James Bond.

Q fell head over heels for the man, completely and unapologetically but with a good deal of general resentment. He wanted to have his life established and a relationship with somebody safe and composed and caring, who would take care of him and love him back without question or query.

“Double-oh seven has gone off grid.”

“Well of course he bloody has,” Q griped, and rolled his eyes as he looked over Bond’s mission notes.

Eve was watching, with a small smirk. “You love him.”

Q’s expression was absolutely murderous. “I do  _not_ ,” he hissed. “He is nothing but a troublemaking nightmare, and…”

“He loves you too,” Eve pointed out.

Of course, Q just looked mildly aggrieved. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He  _does_.”

“Which makes my life  _so_  much better.”

Eve’s expression had softened a little, the way it did when Q was being particularly ‘cute’. “If you are a good person – genuinely good – and you are of service in this world and you have a life that is yours and that you like and that matters and it matters to you and you don’t need anybody, when you don’t need anybody, someone will come and fuck that up with their love.”

Q blinked.

Blinked again.

“What now?”

Eve smirked, in a way that made Q slightly want to do damage. “Greg Behrend. Beautiful quote, isn’t it?”

Of course, Q refused to concede defeat that easily, and so shrugged petulantly. “Don’t love him,” he sulked. “I definitely don’t. And he doesn’t love me either.”

Eve sauntered away, still smirking.


	710. Chapter 710

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve just finished by last final! (3 in 24 hours almost killed me) I’d love it if you two could write a prompt featuring bird!00Q. I had a silly idea where James starts building nests everywhere around MI6. It’s getting on everyone’s nerves, but James won’t stop until he makes the perfect nest for Q. Having the nests in the most ridiculous places (M’s office, middle of the firing range) would be loved! – anon

He’s getting all broody, it’s not natural,” Moneypenny muttered, as Q picked at carrot cake.

"He’s determined," Q shrugged. "I’m torn between being flattered and a little afraid."

"He attempted to build one  _in the bathrooms_ ,” Eve pointed out.

Q smirked. “It was warm with a source of clean running water.”

"Why not just do it in your house?!" she demanded, spearing her own cake with great vehemence, looking balefully at the joyous chaos of wood and leaves and plumbing and the odd bit of electricity that was optimistic but not quite working fully (Bond had never been good enough with tech).

Q sipped his tea, glancing around with vague satisfaction. “Doing it in the house would be deeply impractical,” Q observed lightly, propping his feet up on the perfectly-placed and height tailored footrest.

Bond was really going all-out with the nesting thing. If he didn’t know better, Q would assume he was actively broody; mercifully, Bond had no interest in kids in the imminent future, and Q had no interest in the distant future.

All the same, it was fun, and Q had a  _lot_  of fantastic places to nest in MI6 should anything go wrong. “Oh, and I’m here most of my life anyway, so there seems little point in setting up shop elsewhere,” Q continued, smiling with great contentment as his footrest vibrated. “Ooh, I’m guessing R helped with that.”

Eve looked nigh on sulky. Alec was useless with nesting. His last nest had been atrocious, a collection of silly things placed in a large pile and Eve had just stared blankly at it with a slightly pathetic expression.

“Get Alec to start working on them properly,” Q suggested, his smirk taking on a somewhat cheeky edge; he knew full well that Eve really  _was_  getting broody, and wanted Alec to start vaguely settling down and at least harbour the  _suggestion_  of kids and a future and a life.

He was valiantly trying, but he was just the worst for setting things up and ever doing anything like that.

Eve looked vaguely sulky. “I don’t know how to make him.”

“Get him to compete with Bond,” Q suggested brightly, and grinned madly. “Works for both of us, yes?”

Abruptly, Eve’s expression went from upset to grinning like nothing on the planet. “ _Yes_ ,” she grinned, and tugged out her phone. “Oh,  _hell_  yes.”


	711. Chapter 711

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I get a fic where after Le Chiffres torture James can’t orgasm so M ( female) helps him get past the mental block? – anon

M watched him, eyes narrowing as she observed the dark circles, the noticable tension.

"Oh for god’s sake Bond, you need to talk to someone," she snapped, as he stumbled into her office.

“‘bout what?” he asked, as she indicated that he took as seat.

"Is it subconscious homophobia or simple age that is preventing you from orgasming while fucking the MI6 Quartermaster?" she asked, in her infamously blunt manner.

Bond looked like he hoped the chair would somehow eat him.

M, of course, was absolutely merciless in her gaze. “Come on now,” she tutted. “Talk. This is ridiculous, and I’m bored of the posturing. You’re clearly having problems, and given that you’re emotionally stunted, I suppose I will have to act as some form of impromptu therapist. Believe me, I relish this as much as you do.”

Bond was absolutely, lethally silent.

This was, quite possibly, his idea of a personal hell.

“Le Chiffres?”

The shock was so profound that even Bond – a trained agent – was completely unable to react.

“Superb,” M continued, rolling her eyes skywards. “You’re not precisely subtle, Bond, I could see that particular trigger coming. Torture, I’m assuming? Physical damage?”

Bond had regained enough composure for his voice to be perfectly level. “My testicles are entirely intact, thank you, however my ability to use them is less than ideal.”

Of course, M smirked slightly; Bond was always bracingly sarcastic, and it boded well for the impending conversation. “Have you spoken to Medical?”

The look Bond shot her was explanatory enough. Bond had a healthy contempt for everything psychological, and all the shrinks in Medical had ever been capable of doing was to label him as difficult and contemptuous of all authority – not exactly surprising – and they promptly gave up on the man.

“Has it occurred to you that speaking to our Quartermaster may be helpful?” M asked, voice still dry as a desert plain. “Q has his own past, I’m certain you could both share touching tales.”

Bond made a slight face. “Yes, that sounds like an ideal conversation,” he muttered.

M slapped him. Bond nearly punched back, but restrained the reflex as best he could.

“What the hell was that for?” he asked indignantly.

“You’re being an arse, so I’m rather hoping this will knock some sense into you. Now – get out, and deal with things.”

Bond slipped out, metaphorical tail between legs.

-

M saw them a week later.

Bond looked contented and relaxed.

Q looked frankly  _delirious_.


	712. Chapter 712

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi.. I am in the mood for angst.. real angst. James maybe having hurt Q out of a rage from a recent mission and Q tells him get therapy or no relationship ever. James begging with gifts and flowers and such but nothing works except James getting real therapy. and him letting it all out finally to a therapist. emotions running rampant would be fab! sorry I know not everyone likes angst.. but I do .. and I truly look forward to your fics!! amazing. – anon

Paul was a therapist. Paul was not his friend.

"Well James, how has the week been?" he asks, with that irritatingly calm voice.

"Fine,"

"What would you like to talk about?" Paul asks, still calm. Still with his clipboard.

Hmm. What to talk about. How he managed to hit his lover. How he still hated himself for the way Q looked sometimes, when the anger flared, and Q was scared.

Q was scared, and that was why Bond was he with bloody goddamn Paul.

"I don’t know."

Paul looked at him with infinite patience. The kind of patience that made Bond vaguely homicidal.

Not helpful. Definitely not helpful.

Deep breath. Release.

Paul was smiling.

Oh, for god’s sake, he was just trying to rile Bond now.

“You seem tense.”

Bond let out a sharp hiss of a laugh. “No, I hadn’t noticed,” he said drily. “Yes, oddly, I’m extremely tense. I don’t like this sort of thing overly much, I think it’s pointless, and I resent it.”

Paul had the bloody audacity to smile. “Excellent, that’s good. Go on.”

A raised eyebrow. “You honestly want me to tell you that I think you’re a cunt with too many qualifications, and all in something that doesn’t make a single goddamn difference to anybody’s minds or behaviour, except maybe circle-wanking over imagined childhood traumas.”

At least he looked slightly more ruffled.

“That kind of language is…”

“… abusive? Unfair? Well apparently that’s my speciality, so why don’t we run with it for a while,” he snapped, and hated everything on the planet for the look of honest interest in Paul’s expression.

Bond let out a steady, controlled breath.

“I…”

“If you try to psychoanalyse that, I…”

Bond cut himself off. It would really not to do to kill his therapist.

Another series of deep breaths.

“Your control is improving.”

Bond opened his eyes, looked over Paul. “… excuse me?”

“When we began, you were barely able to keep yourself collected,” Paul observed, leaning back, surprisingly calm. “Now – you just brought yourself back, without interference, and without doing harm. Very impressive.”

Bond was so confused, it stalled anything he had been intending to say.

-

“He’s making progress,” Paul said confidentially to Q, as Bond ambled out, looking a little worn but generally well.

Q smiled at his partner, and slipped a hand into Bond’s. “Good,” he murmured, while Bond’s entire frame softened at the simplest of Q’s touches.


	713. Chapter 713

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is mad at Q. Q seduces Bond while Bond mutters “that’s not going to work this time, Q” before giving in…love you guys :) – anon

"Q!" Bond roared, pulling previously perfectly folded items out of the bottom drawer. Socks flew everywhere. “ _Q_.”

"Yeah?" Q yelled from the living room, unwilling to leave the warming bosom of his laptop.

"Where. Is. My. Spying. Suit?"

Q rolled his eyes. “Bond, this is our evening. This is our only evening. I have been trying to make this evening happen for about a month and a half, and I have flowers and I have candles and I’m cooking steak and you are not fucking going on another joy-ride mission at the last possible second.”

Bond let out a warrior cry of irritation. “Queen and Country! It’s for the greater good!”

Q looked up from his laptop sharply, towards the door where beyond, somewhere, Bond was still rifling through absolutely everything. “I’m your husband. I’m the greatest good you’re  _ever_  going to get.”

Bond poked his head around the door. Q looked at him.

“I need to go.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to. Dinner, remember? Flowers. Candles. Steak. Don’t you  _dare_ try to leave.”

“Is this your form of romanticism? Blackmail and red meat?”

Q shrugged. “Seems to be doing the job.”

Bond couldn’t help but agree; he was fucked if he could find where Q had put his suit, and while he _could_  wear his second-best suit, he was supposed to be going to a nice formal dinner where he could infiltrate and flirt, and he  _needed_  his spying suit for it.

“I’ve contacted M. You’re not going.”

The little shit. “You did  _what_?!”

Q grinned smugly. “I contacted M. I’m your Quartermaster, so I get to decide. Hah. Now sit down and cuddle me, I’m bored of you running around like a mad thing. I’m not giving you your suit.”

Bond pouted.

“ _No_ ,” Q insisted crossly. “Sit down. Sit.”

There was no way around it. Q would only make his life hell otherwise.

“ _Sit_.”

Bond acquiesced.

On the bright side, Q cooked  _excellent_  steak.


	714. Chapter 714

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you possibly do a fill of Q and James having a nerf gun fight for whatever reason and M and/or a bunch of new recruits walk in? – anon

Q branch had been temporarily relocated as the main office was being redecorated. It had been relocated on Monday. The decorating began on Wednesday. Tuesday therefore found Q and agent 007 engaged in nerf combat throughout the empty offices.

“ _Ha_ ,” Q crowed, as he got Bond in the forehead; he abruptly paled, and ducked as Bond fired off a load of shots.

Chances were he was out of ammunition, though, which gave Q an advantage. “How the fuck are you so good at this?” Bond yelled.

Q cackled. “I make weapons for a living, do you really think I haven’t tested them?!”

He shot up, and Bond was nowhere to be seen.

A small movement, and Q shot.

Missed.

Thus, he fell to the floor, and crept beneath the desks, grabbing Bond’s discarded ammunition to reload. The click was barely audible – Q had modified it – and he could hear movement.

Q let out a war cry as he stood, started shooting.

“Oh  _fuck_ ,” he managed, and got a dart in the back of the head.

Bond’s voice echoed: “Oh fuck.”

M stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised, dart at his feet from where Q had shot him.

They all stood in awkward silence for a moment.

After a moment, M let out a sigh. “I’d ask, but I fear the answer,” he said simply. “Do you have a spare?”

Bond and Q glanced at one another, eyes slightly wide; the back of Q’s head hurt, and he scowled briefly before twisting back. “Erm… yeah?” he mumbled, spidering his way through the desks and grabbing one.

M caught it deftly, as Q threw it.

Both Bond and Q stood, watching, as M examined the thing in minute detail.

He glanced up, and grinned a truly  _terrifying_  grin.

“Be afraid,” he said simply, and started shooting.


	715. Chapter 715

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey i was wondering if i could ask nsfw prompt. Q maintains his nether regions hairless (brazilian waxing equivalent) just because he likes it that way. Bond’s first reaction upon seeing/feeling that smooth skin please? sorry if this is a weird request :( - anon

“Oh god,” Q panted as Bond’s kisses moved to his neck. Naturally Q was needed on the mission and so naturally he would be sharing the hotel room with Bond – they needed to work in close proximity. It had the added bonus of a truly stunning suite. “Fuck.  _Fuck_.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing with each passing second. “You have a truly filthy mouth on you when you’re excited.”

Q let out a small cackle. “Well yes, but you fucking  _like it_ ,” he purred, entirely accurately as it happened.

There was no point denying it, so Bond didn’t bother; instead, he grinned like a mad thing, and flicked open Q’s smart trousers, delving forward before Q had a chance to even snatch in a breath.

What he found was unusual.

At first, he had the bizarre thought that Q’s groin was considerably lower. Then, he found Q’s erection, which rather put paid to that idea, but was still utterly confused by what on earth was going on.

Q didn’t bother concealing his smirk. “Surprised?”

Bond had absolutely no idea how to answer that question.

“There’s no hair.”

The answering nod was only a touch patronising. “Well noticed.”

“I mean… are you…?”

“I have hip-down alopecia,” Q said drily, and with utter sarcasm. Bond was about to ask, when: “I wax, Bond. I like it. It’s more comfortable. Problem?”

Honestly, Bond still had no idea how to answer. “It’s different,” he said instead, diplomatically.

“Bond. Do you want sex with me or not?”

_That_  much didn’t need hesitation: “Yes.”

“Then  _get on with it_ ,” Q insisted, grabbing Bond closer to him and kissing him senseless, delighted as Bond’s hands trickled lower, and while he was evidently hesitant – it really  _was_  rather new – it didn’t seem to stop him giving Q an utterly spectacular handjob.


	716. Chapter 716

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Can you do a 00Q where everyone has a spirit animal. But they’re really different from their person? So James’ is really quiet and likes to stick to the rules and stuff like that. Thanks! :D – anon

Q adored him.

MI6’s Quartermaster sat comfortably at his desk, stroking the minute gerbil that was sitting contentedly in his lap. “I’m glad he likes me as much as you do, really,” he smirked, as the gerbil nuzzled into Q’s hand.

Bond was visibly fuming. The only thing that made it bearable was the bloody great peacock strutting around the room; Bond may have had a bloody  _gerbil_  as a spirit animal, but at least he didn’t have an ostentatious bird traipsing around after him.

“I always thought you’d be more of a cat person,” Bond remarked, as Q’s peacock looked him over with a look of pure contempt.

Q smiled softly, stroking the gerbil’s head with a forefinger. “Oh, but he’s  _lovely_ ,” he crooned, the gerbil seeming to not notice on the whole.

Bond gave up on indignation or indeed understanding fairly sharpish. “Alright, so what on earth has this got to do with my mission?” he asked.

The Quartermaster glanced up, just as the peacock started to peck sniffishly at the gerbil. “Oi, no,” Q chastised; the peacock withdrew with an almost tangible pout. “Don’t sulk. Sorry, Bond – what was that?”

“My mission.”

Q blinked. “What mission?”

Bond couldn’t help but feel his shoulders roll slightly in irritation. “The mission which required my spirit animal actively  _accompanying_  me into work today,” he growled, in a tone of voice that made the gerbil squeak.

Indignantly, Q cradled the gerbil closer. “I’m nicer to  _your_  spirit animal than you are,” he pointed out with evident judgement, cooing at the damned gerbil while his own monstrosity cawed loudly at not being able to eat the thing. “Be nice. And there is no mission. Change of plans.”

“Why,” Bond began, with terrifying care, “was it necessary for my animal to come in today?”

Q was mildly nervous as to what on earth Bond would say in response, as he simply smiled – the peacock standing a little in front and the gerbil pre-emptively buried in Q’s shirt – and said: “There was none”.

Bond pounced, as did the peacock.

The gerbil made an ungodly sound.

Q ducked behind the desk.

It was all rather ugly, on balance.


	717. Chapter 717

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umm, hi. I really like your work… I was wondering if you could maybe write something where the double-os abuse/threaten Q to get what they want from him… Then James finds out or sees it happen and goes bamf on them? – anon

Q shook his head, despairing over 001’s seemingly infinite stupidity. “I’m not giving you anything more – you don’t need it and it will simply get damaged,” Q told her, the agent glaring.

“I’m afraid that just isn’t good enough Quartermaster,” 001 told him, toying with the gun in her hand.

“Excuse me?” Q froze, something very much off. “Run that by me again?”

001 raised an eyebrow. “Your  _job_  is to outfit me with what I need for missions.”

Q stared steadily at her, everything feeling abruptly very loud. “I am very aware of that – your point being?” he asked slowly. “I have equipped you with everything you  _need_ , 001, and I frankly don’t care for your petulance if it is not what you  _like_.”

001 leaned in closer.

Q was not a short man, and he was not weak. However, to have a very tall and unbelievably strong double-oh agent leaning over him was more than intimidating, and enough to make Q’s pulse jump erratically in his throat.

“001, I will ask you only once to move back.”

The agent stared at him, her sharp eyes burning. “And I will only ask you once to give me the equipment I – as an experienced professional – require for this mission.”

Sharply, Q sat straighter; it had no effect on 001, but certainly made him feel better. “I suppose you’ve been speaking to 009 too?” he asked dryly; 009 had been inches from physically dangerous, let along threatening, until Q had thrown him out with shocking difficulty. “I don’t know quite why you are both arrogant enough, and indeed moronic enough, to genuinely believe I will give you whatever you like through throwing a tantrum,” he told her. “Get out of my office.”

“Yes, get out of his office.”

Both Q and 001 twisted almost comically towards the door. Q took the opportunity to hit 001 with a mini-taser, which was entirely for Q’s benefit and he regretted absolutely nothing. “Good afternoon, 007,” Q greeted politely. “How was Greece?”

“They have excellent dips,” Bond replied drily, stepping comfortably over 001’s unconscious body. “She was being…”

“Unpleasant. They all are. I must admit I’m not quite certain as to why, but I’ve come to accept it as an occupational irritation of my life at present.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep an eye out. I’m happy to dispatch anybody who’s being problematic if you’ll agree to do the paperwork.”

Q smirked despite himself. “You truly will do anything to avoid paperwork, won’t you?”

Bond took a further step forward, inches from Q with 001’s body sprawled over the floor, twitching. “Yep,” he replied gently, and kissed Q very gently, leaving in time to hear 001 groan expansively.


	718. Chapter 718

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I don’t know if you lovely ladies saw Mojo when it was on in London but Ben Whishaw was in it and it set my 00Q headcanons into overdrive! Could you possibly do a fill where Bond discovers Q’s not quite sane past, maybe Q was on drugs or was just not mentally well, whatever works best, and then Bond finds out Q killed someone. Just looking for massive feels please. Thank you very much, you two are both fantastic. – anon

Q let out a small noise as he walked in, finding Bond in front of a collection of files that he knew worryingly well. “Fuck,” he said simply.

Bond looked up, rather white.

They looked at one another for a moment.

“How did you get hold of those?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I asked. M supplied. They’re not locked files, and I was just… I was only trying to find your birthday, and then it turns out that you have a red marker and that… well. I was interested.”

Q’s hand was trembling slightly. He clenched into a fist, every muscle in his body tense, and it would be alright. It would be alright. He would explain. This could all be explained and Bond would understand.

“You killed somebody.”

Always a good start. “Yes. I was high, and I was angry, and I lost control of my car. She died instantly. It haunts me every day, and I will remember and regret until the day I die. That’s it. She died. She deserved better.”

Bond was utterly, painfully silent.

Q couldn’t help but fear that Bond would simply leave him.

“The ghosts always haunt,” Bond said instead. “Try to let it go, if you can. It won’t help anyone. You’re clean?”

“Have been for nearly eight years,” Q nodded, feeling somehow suspended. “I… you’re okay? I mean… sorry. I know you know how it feels to kill, but I just can’t imagine you’re happy with somebody dying through a stupid, teenage mistake. I was a druggie, immature  _fucking_  teenager, and she… fuck. I can’t let it go, James.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Do you  _want_  me to leave? To not forgive you?”

“I don’t deserve it. I  _killed someone_ , because I was too  _fucking_  high and too fucking irresponsible.”

Q was practically collapsing in on himself, and Bond darted for him before he literally collapsed. “Q.  _Q_. Do you really think I haven’t made mistakes? I’m arrogant, I’m reckless, and a borderline alcoholic. People have died because of me too.”

It was difficult, far too difficult for Q to begin to explain. It was a part of his life that was gone but haunted horrifically, and Bond couldn’t begin to know what it was to  _him_. Bond knew death, and Q wasn’t going to say it was worse for him but it was different, and Q couldn’t bear trying to explain why and how it was worse but  _fuck_.

Bond seemed to sense that Q was imploding, and an instant later Q had warm arms around him, holding him closely and carefully. “I’m so sorry,” Bond murmured, while Q trembled. “I’ve got you. I promise, Q, I’ve got you.”

Q just held on for dear life.


	719. Chapter 719

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if you’ve already received a prompt like this, but how about: In Bond’s early days as a 00 agent and Q’s early days as a hacker, Q is captured by MI6. Because he refuses to speak, even under painful duress, Bond is given instructions to use sexually coercive measures to get info out of him, but when Q has a traumatic reaction to it, Bond can’t go through with it. – anon

The kid was young and terrified, watching Bond with wide eyes and instinctively pressing himself flat against the far wall, spine flattening as he half-propped himself up and began to try standing.

“Good evening.”

From the off, Bond had his tone placed to seduce, to insinuate. ‘Q’ – as he was apparently calling himself – had remained resolutely silent in spite of some of the best interrogative tactics MI6 had to offer. Q was now crumpled in the far corner of the room, bruised and bloodied but still retaining a spine of steel.

“Hello,” he replied, with a nod of introduction; Bond instinctively rather liked him, the determination and strength in his voice. It also made him feel a little better about what would be transpiring; this was Bond’s least-favourite part of any proceedings, and it was a small comfort to know that it was an indisputable final resort.

Q’s eyes widened very slightly as Bond came closer, but behind the plastic frames of his glasses – Bond couldn’t quite believe how much of a cliché the hacker was – was still ice. “I’m not telling you anything new, either,” Q warned. “For the last time: I’m an independent hacker, I work freelance, no higher authorities. I became involved in work for a less than auspicious individual, and fell in over my head, he left me to take the fall.”

The words were almost by rote, repeated again and again presumably throughout the earlier stages of his interrogation. “Well then,” Bond purred, moving closer, dropping slowly to his knees. “I don’t care much what you’ve said to others. This is about you and me, Q, and I want to know everything new you can tell me…”

There were very few ways to be subtle, in the context of an interrogation, and so Bond didn’t bother. Instead, he reached immediately out with a hand over Q’s knees, watching the pale green eyes widen impossibly further.

Bond’s hand crept upwards.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had seen an interrogation subject immediately start to panic at the suggestion of sex, but this certainly seemed like something more; Q didn’t quite flinch, didn’t hyperventilate or grit his teeth, but instead Bond watched as his eyes shut, body deflated, and he let out an almost-inaudible whimper.

This was not what he expected. This was a young man who had been through this before.

“Q?”

The hacker didn’t answer. Bond felt shivers run down his spine as the boy silently, expressionlessly, let tears trickle down his cheeks. “Not this,” he murmured, almost inaudibly, the heat of Bond’s hand heavy on his thigh. “Please. I don’t have anything to tell you people. Not this.”

Bond couldn’t have done if he tried.

Q only seemed to start breathing again when Bond moved back.

Bond said nothing.

He walked out.


	720. Chapter 720

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I’ve got a prompt, if it’s not too much trouble. So, 00Q where Q wakes up from a bad nightmare and, after some pressing from Bond, reveals that he was in the building and not too ok with the explosion at MI6 (at the start of Skyfall), maybe because of something in the past or something else. Just looking for a heck of a lot of 00Q angst. :-) Thanks. – anon

Q woke up with a strangled gasp and a sob of naked terror.

Bond was already hushing him, expression strained as he tried to understand what was happening, his lover whimpering in his sleep before finally tipping over the edge into wakefulness. “Q?”

The younger man was breathing erratically, eyes roving around. “Bond?”  
“What happened?”

Slowly, very slowly, Q’s body began to deflate a little. Bond waited patiently, holding him as he breathing regulated. “Nightmare,” Q managed after a few moments, deep breaths, glancing up at Bond as though he was somehow going to vanish. “Just a nightmare.”

Bond continued to watch him with very delicate care, mercifully avoiding being patronising. “What about?!”

“Nothing.”

Apparently, Bond was having none of it. “Q. Tell me.”

Q hesitated a long while, let out another long breath, another. “You… the MI6 building,” he explained quietly, almost hesitantly; Skyfall was a long time gone, but the wounds across Bond had yet to heal. “When the MI6 building exploded.”

Of course, Bond’s body stilled. It always did, when Skyfall was brought into conversation, even in passing. “Go on?”

“I was in the building.”

The stillness became yet more profound. Bond seemed to have stopped breathing a little, actually.

“I… I was in Q-branch. As R, of course, but we didn’t get any warning. The  _noise_. The building just… the walls, ceiling… I was knocked over, and Q landed on top of me…he shielded me from the worst, impressively, but he was also… well. You’re not the only one whose boss died in their arms. Q was my inspiration, you know that…”

Q had spoken, at length, about what Q had done for him. A brilliant man by all accounts, who had cared greatly for his acolytes and – in particular – his successor; Q had been protected and mentored for over a year, and missed him with every passing moment.

Bond squeezed Q’s hand very gently. “You still have nightmares about it?”

With as much poise and acerbity as he could manage, Q turned to look at Bond, and raised an eyebrow sceptically. “ _You_  have nightmares too, do you not? It’s not unreasonable, it’ll  _always_  be there, and I…”

Bond hushed him, hand on Q’s, waiting until Q’s body deflated slightly, the tension running out of the younger – and suddenly very  _fragile_  – young man.

No, it would never go away.

It would, however, get easier in the end.


	721. Chapter 721

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I have a Bond/Perfume crossover? Grenouile is Q’s brother and Q doesn’t know what to do because he’s had his brother committed multiple times but he still loves him and maybe Bond finds out? – anon

“Q… I hate to ask, but you have a brother, yes?”

Q glanced up. “Ah. So you found out.”

At least Bond didn’t try to deny it; he shrugged, mostly unconcerned about looking into any of Q’s affairs. Q was just as bad, after all. “So – he’s a psychopath, then?”

“Yes.”

There was no good way to talk about Grenouille. Q still loved his brother quite completely, but he was beyond the point of normality; Q couldn’t make excuses for him any longer, couldn’t pretend that his brother was anything other than very unbalanced.

Bond watched him, as though expecting Q to explain unprompted. When it seemed that Q was not going to, Bond naturally asked: “Murders?”

“For the sake of his own greater ideals, yes,” Q nodded, a little uncertainly. “He is a perfumer, an extraordinary one, more than you could believe… but to get the right balances, he needed to get the essence of  _people_. He started to kill. He got caught.”

The entire concept was terrifying, horrifying.

Bond couldn’t quite work out how to phrase it. “Erm… Q, do you… do you have any of his… you know…”

“… perfumes?” Q completed, with mild amusement. “Of course I do. My aftershave is one of his.”  
Bond went white. He loved Q’s aftershave. He had  _always_  loved Q’s aftershave, it complimented Q’s skin, the perfect type of fragrance to augment everything beautiful in him, and it was  _intoxicating_ , and made by a murderer.

Q almost smirked. Bond looked more horrified than Q could begin to believe.

“Bond, he’s a perfumer. Of course I own some of his perfumes.”

“Do you have… fuck, have  _I_  got any of his… shit. Shit.”

A small raised eyebrow, and Q was definitely smirking now. “Why is this such a problem?” he snorted. “Come on now. You never know who makes these things or does them. These, oddly enough, don’t contain human body bits – he’s never actually  _sold_  any of those ones, he’s been making perfumes for years, though. He tailors my ones.”

“Q, this is weird, really weird.”

Bond looked very, very nauseous now. “Calm down. He’s my brother. I still love him, you know… I mean, he’s very unwell. Very, very unwell. I always thought he should be treated with pity, actually. He was always… he was born with something nobody understood. He’s getting help now, that’s what matters.”

“Please don’t ever, ever tell me if they’re one of his,” Bond asked, with a note of a plea. “For my sake. Please.”

Q watched him, gaze lingering. “Okay,” he said quietly, nodding slowly. “For you. He is my brother, though. Remember that. I do care about him.”

Bond nodded, and slid a hand into Q’s, breathing him in with a lingering sense of foreboding.


	722. Chapter 722

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has a terminal illness and Q tries to deal with it. – anon

“Cancer. Terminal, I’m afraid.”

Q couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, everything stalling and stopping and  _hurting_  beyond anything he could believe because James Bond couldn’t  _not_  have cancer, could  _not_  be dying. “This isn’t fair,” he said quietly, in lieu of anything else he could manage.”

Bond watched him. Even managed a small, semi-fragile smile. “No. It isn’t.”

They two were utterly quiet. Neither could find anything to say.

Q’s mind was instantly flooding with the practical aspects: healthcare, wills, jobs, letters. Things to be written, everything to be prepared and readied for the eventual moment when Bond slipped away from his grip; there was so much to  _do_ , and Q willingly avoided thinking about how much this was going to hurt.

On the bright side, Bond seemed all in favour of avoiding the upsetting/emotional aspects too. Q began to speak about said arrangements in a clinical, detached tone and Bond seemed more than content to join in. They had to sort things out. They had to.

Q could feel that his voice was shaking, and ignored it as best he could.

In fact, he was  _rambling_ , and he couldn’t stop. The words were no longer making sense. Bond knew it and Q knew it and neither of them could let themselves care because that would mean facing the obvious.

In retrospect, Q had no idea how he ended up face-down on the floor in front of Bond, screaming and crying his eyes out while Bond tried very hard to get him to breathe and talk normally, tried to stop the screaming.

Quiet eventually took over, and Q could only hear Bond’s voice, a quiet and running mantra: “I’m scared too, love. I’m scared too.”

The tears had to stop eventually, of course they did.

“I don’t want you to die.”

Bond smiled into Q’s hair, holding him so tightly he could barely breathe. “I’m not wildly keen either.”

Q let out a small, wet snort. “Well no, I gathered that,” he laughed, before the laugh became faintly hysterical and he clung back onto Bond. “You’re sure? I mean, there’s definitely no… no chance?”

Of course, Bond didn’t reply, but the silence was answer enough.

Time to be grown up. Time to remember who this was hardest for. “What can I do?”

Bond’s eyes contracted, quietly confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’re…” Q trailed off. “This… it’s got to be hard. I just, I just wondered if there was anything… I could do. I mean. If there’s anything I can do.”

Of course, Bond shook his head.

They remained in silence. Q curled himself around Bond’s body protectively, as though he could personally fend off the cells that were destroying the man he loved far more effectively than any stray bullet had ever come close to.


	723. Chapter 723

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um…i know it’s weird but could you, when you have time, do a fic where Bond is somehow Q’s biological father, Bond knows but Q doesn’t? And when Q’s abusive step father comes in the picture que protective!Bond. Please no incest? – anon

He was nothing like Bond had expected: skinny, dark haired and with the slight look of a person who thought sunlight was a thing for other people. Frankly, he couldn’t quite believe the test results, but the boys down in Medical were absolutely cetain.

“Can I help you with something 007?” Q asked, pulling Bond out of his slight daze.

Bond was still staring, and tried to make thoughts happen a little more coherently. “I need to talk to you,” he managed, a little hesitantly.

Q looked aptly scared, and therefore followed him without too much question.

“… go on?” he asked, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. “I’ve never seen you look so serious in my life, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re dying or something similar.”

Bond didn’t smile. Q went very slightly white.

“I’m not dying.”

A flush more colour; that was quite gratifying.

“I’m your father.”

Three. Two. One.

Q  _collapsed_  with laughter. “Sorry, what?” Q snorted. “You’re…  _you’re_  my…”

Bond slid over a file, and Q continued to laugh with a dash of hysteria, grinning like a mad thing in the hope of making something make sense because it honestly didn’t quite yet, and then – of course – he opened the folder.

“Oh  _fuck_.”

-

It didn’t make much of a difference, initially. Q was still Bond’s superior, and Bond was still an arse, and they got on as they always had.

The problem came in the form of Paul.

Paul was Q’s stepfather, and in his defence, had done his best to raise Q. He was a useless piece of shit, in Q’s words, but he had tried – at least a little – before giving up altogether on the realisation that Q was both gay, and a ‘computer nerd’.

It hadn’t ended well.

Bond didn’t need to see much; Q’s posture was bent inwards on itself in a way that was familiar and awful and unforgiveable, and Bond wasted no time in plucking the man backwards. Q had told him, of course, as they started to speak more, and so Bond knew – the moment he saw Paul – who he was, and why Q looked quite so wilted.

“Get the  _hell_  away from him.”

Paul didn’t even vaguely attempt to fight. Bond adored kicking him out, and rather hoped he would never see hide nor hair of the man ever again.

“Thank you,” Q said quietly.

Bond smiled, and he tried not to make it show that it hurt, words on the edges of his tongue.

_God, you look so much like her._


	724. Chapter 724

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I was wondering if you could write a bit of Q being jealous of Bond and Moneypenny, because a lot of fics are always written the other way around, so I’d love to see it from the other perspective! Thank you so much and keep up the fantastic work! <3333 – anon

They were the perfect couple, after all. Everyone thought it. Everyone commented on it. Constantly.

Q closed his eyes, glasses placed on the table in front of him and rubbed his temples. His last ‘serious’ relationship had been over a year ago now, it was only natural he was jealous; he needed somebody in his life, but he had very little opportunity to meet anybody these days and yes he was  _jealous_  of other MI6-trapped coworkers being in relationships.

It had nothing to do with the fact that it was James Bond. At all.

After all, Bond was straight. Bond was womanising and straight and had been in a relationship for several months without stopping and was faithful, and they were happy, and Q was happy for them.

It was getting very difficult to look Eve in the eye, however.

Moneypenny deserved happiness. Everybody knew they had slept together before, and there was a history and complexity of relationship that made it natural they would start a relationship, of  _course_ they would, and Q was happy for them.

He was happy for them.

“Bond, if you could possibly detach yourself from Miss Moneypenny, I would like a word with her,” Q drawled into the comm system; he listened to the sounds of giggling, of batting, kisses slid across the throat, and his heart was clenching painfully in his throat. “Thank you.”

“What can I do for you, Q?”

Q consciously continued to keep himself calm. “You should have been in my office nearly two hours ago,” he told Bond drily. “If you could possibly do as required, that would be absolutely delightful.”

Bond dutifully turned up a few minutes later. “You seem tense,” he pointed out playfully, and for the love of  _god_ , he had lipstick smeared across his face. “What’s wrong?”

Q rose an eyebrow. “Work.”

“Bit stressful for our resident adolescent?”

A small snarl – that was habitual, they always parried like that, this was just how they got with one another – and Q decided to sod everything, and stick his tongue out at the older man.

“Mature.”

“I do my best,” Q replied easily. “Now, fuck off and kill people, isn’t that your general job description?”

Bond smirked despite himself. “Not how I’m usually known, but I’ll go with it,” he snorted, and softened slightly at the realisation that Q’s expression was just a touch forced.

He knew why. Bond had always known why. However; there was nothing he could do about it – Q would have to deal with it on his own terms, in his own times – and so he left it well enough alone and waited for Q to heal.

“See you in a few weeks,” he said, surprisingly kindly, and – finally – disappeared.

Q let out a slow breath.

“Q?”

Another breath. Here we go again.

“Yes, Miss Moneypenny?” 


	725. Chapter 725

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So imagine a pregnant R go into labor while instructing a very important mission so Q has to deliver R’s baby and he’S VERY GOOD AT IT – anon

R was screaming, voice screeching higher.

Everybody had said she should go on maternity leave, and she had sworn at them with merry simplicity before promptly going back to work day after day after day and ignored both MI6 Medical and general colleague advice to continue working.

“ _I DON’T WANT TO BE PREGNANT I MISCALCULATED MAKE IT STOP_.”

Q-branch had descended into near-enough chaos, given that she had been dealing with a rather high-importance mission which had Medical having kittens upstairs – two agents down, emergency evacs left right and centre, and it was just a nightmare – and thus Q-branch were pretty much snookered.

“R. Breathe. Regular, in and out. Water and towels, ladies and gentlemen, along with every single piece of medical equipment we possess.”

Nobody had anticipated it, but Q was taking everything shockingly well.

“Claire, I want close-up surveillance on our current marks. You are in charge. I will remain on comms to Bond and direct, but I will also be handling R. Anybody who can get through to Medical, do so  _right now_. Bond, you should be clear, get the fuck out of the building. R darling, I need you to keep breathing, lie back for me.”

“ _WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FUCKER OF A WIFE?!_ ”

001 was on the way. 001 had been told, by her very-pregnant wife, that if she didn’t turn up for the birth R would ensure the destruction of every single technological item on 001’s person. She’d nicked the threat off Q, but it held all the same.

“She’s on her way, now I need you to concentrate for me…”

“…  _IF SHE’S NOT HERE YOU’RE PUSHING IT STRAIGHT BACK IN AGAIN, YOU HEAR ME?!_ ”

“I hear you. She’s nearly here,” Q soothed, and turned sharply to Harry. “Where the fuck is she?!”

“Here!”  
001 scooted to R’s side, grasping her hand. “ _AT FUCKING LAST, WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!”_

001 wisely restrained a smart response – “Portugal, getting shot at” – and instead squeezed her wife’s hand comfortingly, and encouraged her onwards.

“Okay, you need to start pushing,” Q told her gently. “ _No_  Bond, not you.  _You_  should be getting out of that building. Are you?!”

“ _Not as such_.”

“Then  _GO_. No, R,  _fuck_ , well yes, go.”

“ _AM I GOING OR AM I NOT?!_ ”

Q nodded, and was the extraordinary voice of calm as R screamed her head off. Q couldn’t quite believe how fast she’d gone into labour, and indeed wound up fully dilated, and couldn’t help but think she’d continued to work long after her waters had broken and just hadn’t told anybody.

“ _I FUCKING HATE YOU WHY DIDN’T I MAKE YOU HAVE THE BABY YOU COULD HAVE HAD A BABY WHY DO I HAVE TO HAVE A BABY…_ ”

001 was mercifully not laughing – R had always been adamant that she would carry their baby, when she and 001 decided they wanted one – and just continued to encourage her wife onwards with a decent degree of poise.

Q, to everybody’s shock, conducted the entire thing.

The baby slid into Q’s arms, and a towel, and Q-branch could barely breathe.

“ _Q? Q, what is it_?”

Q could hear Bond’s voice in his ear, R and 001, his entire branch, and this was possibly the most extraordinary moment of his life thus far.

“It’s a boy,” he murmured to 001, who was chalk-white, just as Medical finally turned up to take over.


	726. Chapter 726

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> james wooing q with sweets!!! \\(OuO)/ - anon

The first popped upon his desk.

A bag of sherbet lemons. Q hated boiled sweets. Sherbet was indisputably one of the best things the world had ever created, but why on earth somebody would choose to trap them in hard sugar was entirely beyond Q.

Thus, Q generally ignored them.

“Did you like them?”

Q glanced up in genuine confusion. “Hang on – that was  _you?_ ” he asked, staring at Bond as though he had never seen the man before. “Why?”

“I thought you’d like them.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “You’re not angling for a date again, are you?” he asked wearily. “I told you: No. I’m not interested.”

“Why?”

“You’re not my type.”

Bond looked genuinely affronted. Q didn’t apologise.

Pouting, Bond strode away again.

-

The chocolates were very ill-conceived. Q ignored them.

They were replaced by an optimistically large collection of caramels, which was an absolutely  _splendid_ idea on Bond’s part and Q was very impressed, decimating the box in less than twelve hours.

After all: he may not have wanted to date the man, but free chocolate was free chocolate, and he was never going to object to that idea.

There was another box the next day.

And the next day.

And Bond then sent them from a distance, from a mission in Paraguay, at which stage Q realised Moneypenny was complicit in the insanity. “Why are you letting him do this?!” Q whined. “This is _ridiculous_.”

“You’ll concede defeat eventually. Q honey, you’re not subtle, and you fancy the pants off the man.”

Q grimaced. “I  _don’t_.”

Eve smirked, and left Q alone, with an box of fudge. “ _How is he doing this_?!” Q screeched, and stropped into his office, fudge in hand.

-

“Fine.”

Q had a mouthful of fudge, and his desk was strewn with empty boxes, and he had gained about a stone in a week and a half.

Bond was standing in the door, smirking. “Dinner?”

Q’s eyes widened. “Fuck, no. Film or something. Never want to eat anything again as long as I live, R’s concerned I’ll go into shock.”

“Deal,” Bond grinned.

Just before he left, he threw a small pack of something towards Q; he snagged it out of mid-air, and couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh.

A pack of lemon sherbet.


	727. Chapter 727

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I ADORE your prompt fills! When thee has time, could you maybe do a fic where Bond and Q get stuck in an extremely boring meeting and Q flirts with bond with innuendos and stuff for fun but Bond takes it way too seriously and ends up giving Q a handjob under the desk? *Throws chocolates and runs away* - anon

Financial meetings. The bane of Q’s existence.

Q sat there, nodding politely, as someone from finance told them how much money they were losing and how they should all be ‘tightening their belts’, well aware that everyone was merrily ignoring them. Q was certainly doing so.

“If his belt gets any tighter I fear we will see which side he dresses,” 007 commented under his breath, causing Q to choke on his tea.

Bond was there as a spokesman for the double-oh agents, and only because everybody else was occupied on missions. “Seeing that would only be pleasurable from one person here, and it certainly isn’t him,” Q murmured back drily, the shadow of a smirk creeping.

The low chuckle was unbelievable in how it made shivers crawl along Q’s spine, in a very _very_  good way. “And who would that be?”

“Try and guess,” Q said with a smile of his own, nodding sagely at whatever M was now saying and somehow not  _noticing_  the way Bond’s hand started to creep over his thigh.

By the time he noticed, there was no going back, and he didn’t especially want to. “Double-oh seven…”

Bond’s smirk was absolutely obscene. “Yes, Quartermaster?” he asked, as his hand slid further up Q’s inner thigh. “Shouldn’t you be listening?”

Shock had pinned Q entirely to his seat, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. However, Bond was right: he needed to listen, at least vaguely, as they were just beginning to get into discussions about the terrifying losses Q-branch had been sustaining through weaponry damage and loss.

“Yes,” Q agreed, to god-alone knew what, as Bond subtly unbuttoned his trousers and slid a hand in. “ _OhmygodBondwhatareyoudoing_ ,” he hissed.

The agent let out a worryingly audible snort. “Shh. Listen to the nice men talking.”

Q tried very hard not to whine, as Bond’s fingers closed around his hardening cock.

Q was going to kill him.

_After_  he’d come.

“This is going to end badly,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, as Bond started languid strokes, and Q confirmed in the same instant that all the rumours were entirely true: James Bond was going to be the death of him.


	728. Chapter 728

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you possibly have a fic where James is a merman that was captured and lives in an aquarium, Q is a marine biologist trying to campaign to stop the mermaid hunts. – madwriterscorner

Q really wasn’t supposed to have favourites. It was very bad form. Q was a researcher, after all; impartial and fair.

But then, there was James.

Q had named him James, despite the fact that the man – the  _creature -_ naturally couldn’t tell them his true name. They were a highly communicative species, yet human speech evaded them entirely.

Beautiful, muscular and completely silent. Q’s perfect man.

The merman smiled as Q stroked delicate fingers over the glass of his tank. “I need to know you can understand,” Q murmured, smiling back with a type of sadness.

They needed proof that merpeople were intelligent, complex. Merpeople were hunted for a number of reasons – scales, gills, the sheer research value, the fact that they got in the way, collectors’ items – and Q was intending to ensure that they stopped.

If he could somehow determine that merpeople were intelligent – of human-level or higher – he could get an international edict that would prevent the slaughter of merpeople.

“How are you?” Q asked lightly.

James smiled, and shrugged very slightly.

At which point, Q blinked. “Erm – you can understand me?” he asked, a little slowly.

James nodded.

_Fuck_.

“How the  _fuck_  have you… _how_  are you… you didn’t understand me  _last time you saw me_ , how in the ever-loving…”

James held up a hand, quieting him, and indicated to his ear; Q was fairly sure his heart had given up on normality, but went with it all the same. “You… listened?” he asked, and made a small sound at James’s delighted nod. “You… how did you learn  _language_  just from listening?”

For a moment, James didn’t respond, and Q couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just imagined the entire thing.

Then, James pointed upwards, to the open top of his tank.

Q didn’t move for a little while. James looked deeply alarmed for a moment, hand pressed against the glass in transparent worry; a moment later, James swum up to the top of the tank, breaking the surface.

“Hello?”

In a second, Q was  _sprinting_  to the ledge over the cage. “Seriously?!” he asked, voice mostly a squeak. “You… you’re  _talking_.  _HOW_  are you talking?!”

“I listened to you,” James told him simply, if a touch stilting. “I listen to all you. Makes sense, a little.”

Q made a strange mumbling sound. “But that’s extraordinary.”

“As are you,” James replied, with a light shrug. “You are trying to save my people.”

“Yes,” Q murmured, very quietly, almost inaudible. “Of course.”

James smiled.

He was beautiful. Very, very beautiful.

James extended a hand to Q, glistening with water droplets.

Q took it, and the splash echoed.


	729. Chapter 729

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt! James and Q have been in a relationship for over a month and James has fallen hard. He thinks everyone at MI6 knows, but Q actually hasn’t told anyone. When James lets it slip that he is in a serious relationship everyone is furious because they believe he is breaking Q’s heart – anon

"Since when?!" Eve demanded, almost throwing the pool cue across the table, and herself with it.

The MI6 rec room: home of table football and the monthly interdepartmental drunken pool tournament. Bond hadn’t had much, but he was happy enough; it had been a long few months for the pair of them – Eve accompanying M to Holland, Bond in a nightmarish succession of missions that he had only narrowly avoided being hospitalised from – and they needed a little while off to simply breathe.

Sinking his next shot, he shrugged.

“Few months?” he returned noncommittally, stalking around the table to find another decent angle. “I’m in trouble, Eve. I mean it. I haven’t felt like this about anybody since Vesper.”

Eve’s eyes widened slightly; the name was always hanging over Bond when it came to lovers, Vesper clouding the gaps between him and those he was inches from having something real with.

And so, Eve just stared at him.

Bond stared back.

To his confusion, a very upset-looking Eve promptly turned on her heel, and strode out the door without a single look back.

-

Eve was refusing to speak to him.

Most of Q-branch were glaring.

It was all very, very weird.

Bond surmised that Eve had a crush, which was a touch surprising but not too much of a worry. Eve was close to the Q-branch kids, so it was more than possible that they were all very much on her side and so he was being glared at.

Q was at his computer, looking deeply unhappy.

“Q?”

The younger man looked up. His eyes seemed slightly red-rimmed, to Bond’s absolute horror. “What happened?!” Bond asked immediately, moving to Q’s side and reaching for him, hand lying gently over his own.

Q immediately wrenched his hand back. “You,” he said, sharp and with no trace of weakness. “You’re seeing a woman who you’re in love with, you’re… fuck, James, I really thought I…”

“Where the  _hell_  has this come from?”

Silence for a moment, while Q almost  _shook_  with anger, with pain. “I… Eve.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, and turned back to Q’s office door, slamming it open. He spotted Eve and R almost immediately, both conspiring and watching the door, to Bond’s almost-amusement. The rest of the minions were endeavouring to be inconspicuous in doing the same.

“Eve. I am with Q. The person I am dating, and have been for a very long while, is Q. Q decided not to tell you all. He has not just been  _hoping_  to date me, he  _has_  been dating me. I am in love with him. Now you can all go back to work. Happy?”

Eve raised an eyebrow. “Delighted.”

Bond closed the office door, and Q was on him in seconds.


	730. Chapter 730

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I had a noise awareness training today and I started to think - what if a life of gunshots and explosions progressively damaged Bond’s hearing? Maybe it never caused lots of issues because 00s die young, but 006’s and 007’s exceptional longevity is making the problem appear? Thank you! – anon

It went unnoticed until Bond got shot, ambling through the firing range while Q was conducting a weapons test.

It was only his thigh and it was really only a graze (the weapon was experimental rather than true bullets), but it was enough to cause major concern for why in the  _hell_  somebody had chosen to be there whatsoever.

"I said no one on the range!" Q was yelling, pulling a weapon away from a terrified looking minion; Medical descended like vultures in an instant.

Bond simply looked confused. He seemed more perturbed by Q’s anger than by his bleeding leg. He ignored Medical entirely, and spoke to Q instead: “I didn’t hear you shooting at all. What did I miss?”

Q stared at him for a long moment. “Well, I must admit I’m not sure how in the hell you  _missed_  the shooting,” he commented drily, eyebrows beginning to draw together into a dark line.

Bond watched with quiet curiosity as Q turned to one of the Medical staff, and said something Bond didn’t quite catch. The doctor in question furrowed his brows in an identical manner to Q, and turned to Bond. “Have you been having any problems with hearing?”

“Pardon?” Bond replied facetiously, and grinned.

Neither Q nor the doctor looked especially amused.

Mercifully, Bond didn’t decide to be difficult, as the doctor whipped out a very strange-looking device and popped in straight into the agent’s ear. Q watched with concerned interest. The doctor snapped his fingers by Bond’s ear with interest.

“You need to go to an ENT specialist. We have one upstairs, I’ll tell Jamie to expect you,” the doctor announced. “I think you may some issues with hearing.”

Bond didn’t really seem to care much. “I don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with my hearing,” he grumbled, while Q nodded with an almost-wise nod of understanding. “You all done with my leg?”

The Medical staff noted that they were, perhaps, about to have a rather irate double-oh agent on their hands; the ones who had dealt with Bond before promptly scarpered, while the braver ones remained to finish up the dressing.

“Have to say I’m not surprised,” Q mused. “You’ve been mishearing, or indeed not hearing, things for a while. I’m a touch concerned. You’re around guns a lot… anyway. If you’re going deaf, I’m never going to stop taking the piss, I hope you’re aware of that?”

Bond snorted despite himself, and begrudgingly trudged up to Medical.


	731. Chapter 731

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi… Love your writings… I have a prompt I am not sure if you have done but I would love it if you could do it.. .James and Q after being together for a few years have decided (with Q’s approval ) to bring a woman for one night into their bed. (Q’s suggestion). She is tall and beautiful and dark haired. They all get into it but she ignores Q completely, even mocks him a little which angers James so they kick her out and have their own time saying never again…NSFW would be cool your choice! – anon

"Well!" she exclaimed, her voice a low purr, eyes tracing predominantly over Bond; enough so for Q to notice.

Her name was Lynn, and she was a truly beautiful woman. A friend of a friend - trusted enough to sleep with, but not too awkward if it didn’t work out. Q had suggested the idea with the knowledge that Bond would enjoy it, and he was fairly excited too – mostly for novelty value, more than anything else.

"Aren’t you two a sight."

Q was merrily snogging Bond senseless, breaking away to smile brightly at Lynn. “Thank you,” he grinned. “You’re looking rather lovely yourself.”

Lynn slid forward, hands roaming over Bond with evident enjoyment. “Hmm, not quite as delectable as this one,” she murmured. “You’re  _beautiful_ , Mr Bond.”

Bond let out a small sound of surprise as she moved to kiss him, insinuating himself in the space Q was still occupying, her hands trailing to his groin and taking hold of his growing erection, stroking it. “Hmm, I got lucky,” she continued sensually against Bond’s lips. “In bed with a gorgeous man such as yourself.”

“Ahem,” Q commented pointedly, and she barely looked up.

In fact, she let out a small snort.

Bond could  _feel_  that Q was upset, that he was wilting back under the commentary. Q had always been convinced that Bond was entirely out of his league, and her response was just cementing all of it.

The instant he realised, Bond snapped back from her. “What was that?” he asked, voice flint-hard.

“Nothing,” she purred, and tried to move back in towards his lips.

Q’s eyes widened as he literally pushed her back. “No,” Bond said slowly. “You were just extremely insulting towards my partner, and I’m not having it. You’ve also been ignoring him outright. Get out of our flat. Now.”

Lynn looked outright shocked. Q’s expression was identical.

“ _Out_.”

Q just remained gaping, as Bond literally stood her up, grasping her upper arm. “I’m sorry James, I’m so sorry, I…”

Bond guided her to the door, opened it, and merrily indicated that she could damn well get out. “I don’t want to see you in here. Tell Carly I’m sorry, it hasn’t worked out, and I have nothing against her. Goodbye.”

With that, he shut the door, leaving a bemused Lynn on the other side of the door.

Q was still looking deeply confused, but quietly, tentatively delighted. “Did you just defend my honour, Mr Bond?” he asked with a ridiculous grin, and pulled Bond in closer.

“You know, Quartermaster, I think I did,” Bond replied, and was still grinning as he pulled his lover in towards him and showed him what it meant to utterly  _worship_  another human being.


	732. Chapter 732

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could read your fics all day long! I love your writing! I was wondering if you could do a 00q fic where Bond proposes to Q and tells Q how he makes him feel alive and fluff maybe? – anon

Q had been expecting it for a while, but it didn’t make the event any less spectacular; the jokes, the quiet suggestions on Bond’s part and the vehement enthusiasm on Q’s, had all been leading towards the possibility of Bond proposing.

After a point, Q had decided to just leave well enough alone, and fervently hope that it would happen in the very imminent future.

Of course, that meant it finally happened at the perfect moment.

Bond had taken him out to dinner – not an infrequent circumstance in their events, they had a good policy of dinners out and evenings together – and Q had a lovely time, had a drink or two, and they headed home to collapse delightedly on the sofa in a collection of limbs.

“I’m now stuffed, you realise?” Q smirked, kissing Bond with insistent neediness, and entirely unrepentant. “You’re doomed for sex for at least a couple of hours, til my food goes down…

Bond didn’t seem especially concerned; instead, he was shifting Q’s weight off him, and moving to kneel in front of the sofa. “Q,” he said gently, as Q felt blood rush to his face, becoming rather breathless. “You are the most important thing in my life.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Q mumbled, slightly high-pitched, by now very pink and tangibly rather excited. “James…”

“Shh.”

“Shh-ing.”

Bond grinned. “Alright, so: you are the single most important thing in my life, and I cherish more than you could ever know.”

“As I do you.”

“Shh.”

Q’s blush became rather more pronounced. “Sorry.”

Bond’s hand crept to cover Q’s, holding onto him with the strange tenderness Q had found Bond possessed. “Q. I have loved a great many people, and lost almost all of them. I am deeply insecure and paranoid and a nightmare to live with, but then so are you, so it seems to be working alright.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “You were doing really well, go back to the ego-bits.”

“Getting there,” Bond snorted, and reached into his pocket. He kept whatever it was  _very_  well-concealed. “I love you more than life itself, and I will merrily jump in front of trains for you.”

Q started humming under his breath playfully, and Bond bopped him on the nose. “No jumping, by the way, if you get a hero complex we’re screwed.”

“ _Stop it_ , I’m trying to be romantic,” Bond asked, a touch crossly. “Where was… okay. That’s the one: Q. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

From behind his back, Bond drew out a small box, and Q felt a loud squeeing noise rising in the back of his throat.

“Marry me.”

Q was utterly still and utterly speechless. A small part of him had honestly believed it was an elaborate ruse, a playful mocking from Bond, another joke that wouldn’t quite materialise: except, it was  _real_. Bond was holding an honest-to-goodness ring out, with an expression that spoke of great chasms of insecurity.

“ _Yes_ ,” Q managed, and all but threw himself on Bond, holding him so close they had half-forgotten how to breathe.


	733. Chapter 733

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there personal! but i have thought about that i might be transgender. everyone is mocking me with it and i really want to be male, to reveal all the stress. So i thought if Bond had been trans from fem-male? May be stupid, but i would love you :) – anon

"I’ve just never really seen it as an issue," Bond shrugged.

Q sat for a moment, looking a little bit stunned. “But, I mean… you’re  _James Bond._  Womaniser, almost…”

"I know what women want. In a collection of sizes and shapes," Bond interjected, with a wide smirk. "And thank you for that character analysis."

"I didn’t mean…" Q retracted, blushing furiously, and evidently berating himself for the stupidity of that particular statement.

"It’s fair," Bond conceded with a shrug, drinking a touch more of his martini. "I like women, I like sex. I drink martinis. I shoot people for a living. Bond, James Bond. Female to male, on T since I was seventeen, top surgery at nineteen, bottom at twenty two. Naval Commander in spite of a decent amount of prejudice, hold several records various MI6 physical tests and very good in bed."

Q couldn’t really argue with a word of it. “It’s not a problem,” he was quick to say, before Bond got the wrong impression. “I really don’t mind it in the slightest, I don’t mean… I don’t mean that’s… shit, sorry, I’m communicating this badly. Just, I know you’ll have had prejudice and I just want you to know I’m not like that, I definitely wouldn’t ever be like that.”

Bond smiled gently, reaching out to cover Q’s hand with his own in a rather unusual move from the agent. “Thank you,” he said, with a simple gravity. “I do appreciate it, I really do. So, next question: would you like to go out to dinner?”

It wasn’t quite what Q had expected. “I didn’t think I was likely to get that lucky,” he said flatly, some small part of him kicking himself for the lack of subtlety or anything else. “Fuck. In other words: yes. That would be good. When are you thinking?”

“Tomorrow night?” he replied, with a truly glittering smile. “Before we continue: are you concerned about the sexual aspects? Are you uncomfortable in any way, shape or form?”

Q quietly decided  _sod it, I’ve already sounded like an idiot enough in this conversation_  and just went for it, half-pouncing across the table to kiss the agent with all the honest passion he had.

Bond seemed quietly surprised, but the smile that slipped over his lips indicated a very open delight. “Well, that’s that covered then,” he murmured, and Q felt literal butterflies – and damn it, he had always thought ‘butterflies’ was a cliché thing that didn’t actually exist – as Bond leaned in to kiss him again.

And again.

He was a damn fine kisser. Q absentmindedly wondered if his lips were so soft because he still had aspects of femininity.

Yes, there were many things that he would wind up questioning some aspects, just to work it out, to find out more about the man he was – apparently – now in a relationship with.

Q could honestly say it was the best evening he’d had in a very long while.

Bond could feel the tension dissipating in his chest, calming himself by increments as Q made it very clear – very clear indeed – that unlike so many he had once known, all the ignorant creatures Bond had come across, he didn’t mind in the slightest about the person Bond had never quite been.


	734. Chapter 734

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song prompt - Better than i know myself by adam lambert for 00q. I can’t help but thinking of Bond and Q every time i listen to this song :) – anon

“I’m dangerous for you.”

Bond couldn’t help but blink in confusion. “You’re what?” he asked bemusedly, glancing Q up and down as though expecting him to produce a hand grenade out of thin air and blow it up within the next handful of seconds.

Q smiled with a type of sadness Bond didn’t wholly understand. “I know, you’re the agent and you’re the ‘dangerous one’, but come on – I’m your Quartermaster. I am responsible for you. I know what’s going on in every mission, and I know more than you do on most missions. I have to make choices that could kill you, and I ask you to trust me when I could very easily kill you.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “So you’re dangerous because I trust you?”

A small smirk, and Q took another sip of his tea. “Yep, that just about covers it,” he grinned back, and shuffled over a plate of biscuits with a placatory expression. “It’s not because I’m  _going_  to kill you…”

“… always encouraging…”

“… but because I  _could_ ,” Q completed, nudging the biscuits more aggressively until Bond took one; he tried to suppress a smile and failed utterly, taking a bite of the biscuit and nodding at Q to continue. “Stop interrupting, by the way. Yes. So – I don’t like that I have that kind of control over you. Nobody should have that over their partner.”

Bond swallowed the biscuit with perfectly concealed annoyance, instead presenting a gentleness that he figured Q probably needed. “You don’t  _control_  me…”

Q snorted. “Somewhat notoriously, yes.”

“ _Now_  who’s interrupting?” Bond laughed, pushing the biscuits back in Q’s direction and hoping the man was similarly mildly annoyed by it. “Q, it’s  _fine_. We’re grown-ups with a fucked-up job that means you’re put in a position,  _I’m_  put in a position, that most couples shouldn’t have to be in.”

Of course, Q didn’t look even the slightest bit placated. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, “and I don’t want to be put in a position where I am manipulating you, or… I don’t know, I shouldn’t be doing this, with us…”

“I like you managing my missions. You are, to date, the only mission handler I have actually listened to,” Bond told him drily. “Now stop it, I don’t want to hear any more on the subject – I love you. I trust you.”

Q’s eyes widened. “You what now?”

“I love you.”

That was definitely,  _very_  definitely, new. “I love you too,” Q managed, still feeling rather like he’d been hit over the head with a mallet. “Well. That’s a new thing.”

“I like it though,” Bond noted, with a smirk.

Q outright  _grinned_. “You know, I’m not going to argue,” he replied, and moved in to Bond, kissing him with all the passion at his disposal. 


	735. Chapter 735

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This monday im gonna get “graduated” in karate, so I would REALLY love you if you could do something where james is doing karate, and hopefully i will achive the next belt :D Love you! – anon

Deep breaths, hands ready at his sides, the calm he knew and needed pulsing through him.

Step, punch, step. Breathe.

The dojo was empty this time in the morning, light filtering in across the ageing equipment; the place should have been razed a long while ago, but there were some quieter factions of MI6 that had always fought for its survival.

Breathe. Step, punch…

Bond forced himself to pause as a familiar spasm ran up his damaged shoulder.

Breathe. Back to the start.

Bond had been drilling for half an hour, basic combinations, simple moves. Small steps, building himself up again. It was infuriating. He had once considered competing; now, he could barely manage the lowest level of movement without a twinge of pain.

Bags hung around the dojo; he moved over to one, punching, swiping, palm strike, elbow. The bag was swinging and he was panting and Bond collapsed, shoulder on fire and lungs not far behind.

_Messy form, James._

Bond smirked, leaning his head back against the supporting pole.

"Haunting me now, are you?" he asked, eyes closed and chest still heaving.

_You need a sparring partner - you’ve gotten sloppy._

"Not my fault you’re not here," Bond commented, as sweat dripped down his neck and into his vest.

_You’re still living in the past old man. You need to get over yourself_.

Bond chuckled, unzipping his grey hoody a little further. “Do I now?” he asked, blinking his eyes open, Alec’s shadow flicking in the gaping space.

“Easy for you to say,” he murmured at the empty room.

He sat for a further few minutes, heart rate returning to normal.

“Are you alright?”

Bond glanced up; of course it was Q. It was always Q, when Bond was struggling, Q who would always pop out of nowhere and smile at him, be an inexplicable comfort when Bond’s head was breaking inwards.

“No. I miss him.”

Q nodded sadly, moved to Bond’s side. “Mind if I sit?” he asked lightly, waiting for Bond’s nod before carefully settling opposite the agent, legs crossed. “You miss him. Of course you miss him, he was your best friend. You’re doing surprisingly well, actually, I think psych expected you to go on a mass shootout about a week ago.”

Bond chuckled. “Only in the psych area, if I do,” he assured his Quartermaster, who – to his further amusement – actually looked relieved. “Don’t worry, not mad yet. Give me time. Also, please remind M that this dojo is not to be touched.”

“There is a mass edict that will ensure there is nothing whatsoever that will allow this dojo to be removed. If anybody tries, there is an automatic shut-down that lives in the MI6 server.”

Bond reached out, fingers touching Q’s hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Q didn’t say a word, just let Bond mourn in quiet, in peace, in the only way Bond knew how.


	736. Chapter 736

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has a really soft butt and Bond gets his hands on it almost all the time. – anon

"I swear to god Bond, if you say it. If you even  _think_  about saying it.”

"Q…"

"No sex!"

"Q…"

"I mean it!"

"…"

"Thank god…."

"I touched the butt."

"… I hate you so much."

-

Bond was absolutely ridiculous in every sense possible and he  _wouldn’t bloody well stop_  groping Q’s arse at every opportunity; Q found it very endearing for the first few weeks, and then it got to the stage of mildly annoying, and then Bond forgot that it had the potential to be a problem in Q’s day-to-day life to have his partner squeezing his arse the entire time.

If it weren’t for the fact that Q actually secretly and very deeply adored the attention, he would have chopped the man’s hands off by now.

Q’s eyes widened as he noticed Bond sauntering into Q-branch. His butt cheeks clenched in anticipation.

“Bond, I swear to god…”

The agent grinned, all teeth, and his hand was snaking towards Q. Towards his butt. “It’s irresistible…”

“ _No_.”

“Yes.”

Eve was quietly pissing herself laughing; Q had ranted to her about Bond’s tendencies to grope whenever he fancied, and watching Bond in action was definitely very amusing.

“Bond. I’m going to kill you.”

Q narrowed his eyes. Bond’s expression boded ominously. “I’m being good,” he said with manufactured, and – to Q’s shock – didn’t seem to be reaching any further. “Honest.”

After a few moments without anything from Bond, Q decided it was safe.

Bond touched the butt.

Q electrocuted him with a low-voltage taser.

Eve didn’t stop laughing for twenty-five minutes.


	737. Chapter 737

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello poppets! I was curious if you could do a drabble in which Q catches Bond cheating on him with a totally-should-be-dead Vesper? Would want many BAMF!Q in it? Please and thank you! – anon

It was intended as a surprise.

Q had flown over to Tokyo for the end of Bond’s mission. Actually, genuinely  _flown_  to the other side of the world on a long-haul flight to try and celebrate their one-year anniversary.

Apparently, it was not to be.

"Q I…" Bond began.

"Don’t. Just don’t." Q replied, looking over at the messed sheets; the woman had scarpered, somewhat unsurprisingly, while Q had remained staring at Bond and waiting until all was silent, for them to be alone. “I am simply going to inform you that our relationship is over. I don’t care about reasons, excuses, anything.”

Bond stood quickly, moving to Q, trying to stop him from leaving; Q took a sharp step back, eyes sharp with livid fury. “Don’t even try it,” he hissed. “Don’t you fucking  _dare_.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Well, splendid,” Q returned, with frightening sarcasm. “And should I give a fuck? I’ve made a million mistakes in my life and they somehow  _didn’t_  wind up with me cheating on my partner. I flew – fucking _flew_  – here to see you.”

Bond’s expression was mercifully getting to repentant, but it was  _far_  too late for that; he tried again, catching Q’s sleeve.

Q whipped his hand back, and hit Bond hard around the face.

Bond staggered back, looking frankly stunned.

Q looked fairly stunned too. Bond’s reflexes were usually enough to stop attackers while they were still considering movement. Q hadn’t seen Bond get hit in a long time.

They stayed at one another, Q’s breathing heavy and uncertain, Bond scarily still with his cheek reddening.

“I thought I meant more,” Q told him, devastatingly quiet, and Bond’s breath caught entirely.

Without a further word, Q finally twisted on his heel, and walked away.

To his relief, to his grief, Bond didn’t try to follow.


	738. Chapter 738

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely writers :) I have this image stuck in my mind: Q really wants to get married (like REALLY - he’s eyeing his minions hands, gets jealous, googles engagement rings). He doesn’t have to be in the relationship and it doesn’t have to be 00Q (just no het, please). He’s not girly, he…JUST PUT A RING ON IT. – anon

Q was itching. Literally itching.

It seemed like universe was taking the piss, quite frankly. Everything seemed to be tilting towards marriage. Everybody was getting married. Everybody had partners and engagement rings were on offer and holy  _hell_  he wanted to kill the lot of them and probably run away with their constituent partners.

And, of course, sod’s law dictated that Q was dating the most commitment-phobic human being in the entire world.

Bond had no interest in marriage. He had relatively low interest in monogamy, trying to get marriage was probably a stretch.

“James, we need to have a serious talk.”

The agent raised an eyebrow, and obligingly nodded. “Go on?” he asked, a little bit hesitantly.

Q sighed. “I want to get married, and I’m concerned I’ll grow old and die before you finally propose and I’m tired of subtly hinting  _so_  James: propose. Get a ring, get on one knee, and deal with this before I go utterly mad.”

Bond sighed. “Is this to do with R?” he asked wearily.

It was incredible, to literally watch Q’s hackles raise. “This has  _nothing to do_  with R,” he lied angrily, crossing his arms over his front and pouting like a small child. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and you’ve said you want to spend the rest of my life with me, so there’s no reason why not.”

“Except the idea doesn’t sit well with me?”

Q’s breath caught slightly, and he was very quiet for a long moment. “Do you…” he trailed, very uncertainly. “I mean, do you not  _want_ … have I been presumptuous here…?”

“No,” Bond said quickly, with as much assurance he could manage. “It’s not that, it’s just… marriage? Really?!”

Q shrugged. “It’s legality, as much as anything, and it’s… it means something to me, it means a  _lot_  to me. I want that for myself, I always have. I can’t explain it very well, it’s just something in me.”

Bond nodded slowly, and pulled Q into his arms; Q let out a small yelp of surprise, but didn’t move away at all. “Give me time,” Bond murmured. “Just give me time.”

Q smiled into his front, and held on ever tighter.


	739. Chapter 739

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe a fic where Fem!q wears a batman scarf to work and everyone finding it way too adorable. – anon

Q pushed her glasses up as she strode through the branch, heading to the front desk. “Morning all,” she said with quiet calm, flicking her scarf around her neck more confidently. “Status updates, boys and girls. R?”

“Morning ma’am,” she grinned, slipping to Q’s side with a pile of papers. “Everything seems good with the Asia missions, double-oh four is on the way back, Ellis is still undercover in Portugal but orange alerted in the middle of the night, and oh good lord is that a batman scarf?!”

Q grinned, running a possessive hand along the length of the fabric. “Isn’t it gorgeous? James got it for me, worked out I have a long-standing comic book addiction.”

“Marvel or DC?” a junior minion asked.

Q and R turned in perfect unison, with perfect expressions of mild contempt and pity. “I’m wearing a _batman scarf_ ,” Q pointed out. “Of  _course_  I’m a DC fan. DC is better.”  
To his credit, the minion stood his ground. “I know Marvel fans with DC merchandise, traitors all; Marvel is far better.”

“Superman.”

“ _Thor_.”

“Oh come on, you’re just basing it off the films,” another scathing minion attacked.

Another minion joined in on the Marvel-minion’s behalf. “Don’t be patronising, you have no idea, and I’m a Marvel fan too…”

Q and R could only watch as the branch collapsed into utter chaos, as everybody slung comics and heroes and villains and insults around, with Q entirely powerless to stop them. Hell hath no fury like comic book fans scorned.

“Well, that went well,” Q commented drily.

Bond and M arrived in unison, talking in low voices, to discover that Q-branch was in an absolute shambles. The minions were rioting, and all anybody could hear was comic books things that Bond vaguely recognised from Q’s occasional ranting but was otherwise foreign in every sense.

“Q?”

Q just shrugged helpless, and gestured across the branch. “It’ll die off soon,” she promised. “Let it pass, or they’ll just fester for ages.”

M rolled his eyes, and shrugged. “Alright then,” he sighed. “Mine not to reason why.”

Bond was just watching Q. She just lifted his scarf, and grinned madly.

Bond couldn’t help but laugh.


	740. Chapter 740

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, as I’ve mentioned before I absolutely adore your works! I was wondering if you could do a 00Q based on the song Red Planet by Little Mix? Please and thank you and many cupcakes :) – thearchangelofloki

Being with Q set Bond’s skin on fire, every second they were together, every second he could hear Q’s voice in his ear and feel his pulse thrumming in his throat.

“Double-oh seven, run.”

Bond grinned, and moved with breathtaking speed, Q humming dispassionately as Bond’s heart rate spiked on his monitors. “Do try to calm down before you give yourself a heart attack.”

Of course, Bond was running too fast to be able to really give a decent response. Q’s voice, however, gave him the speed he needed to reach the safe location Q had procured and wait, breathing heavily.

“You,” Bond panted, “Are. An. Arse.”

Even at a distance, Bond could feel Q’s smile. “And that would be why you love me.”

Bond smiled with his eyes closed, letting his heart rate settle, and didn’t reply. He didn’t really need to. Q knew.

Q had introduced him to a very new world, a world where it wasn’t necessary to run and hide and fight and hate and live from second to second. Q gave him consistency and something to live for. It wasn’t a fleeting thing any longer.

“If you can be bothered, there’s a car outside you can steal to get to the airbase. I’ll direct you throughout.”

Bond laughed, breathing still a little uneven. “I’ll be bothered in about five minutes.”

“Double-oh agents don’t have five minutes. Move your arse.”

Another snort, and Bond got to his feet. “You’d better have some seriously good whiskey for when I get in.”

“Nope, you’re teetotal, remember?”

Another difference, being in Q’s world: he convinced Bond to abandon the addictions of his life, alcohol and sex. It was mad, utterly mad, but something about Q made him feel it may just be worthwhile. “Yes sir,” Bond replied sycophantically, smirking at Q’s answering snort. “Alright. Car?”

“The only one there, you’d be hard pushed to miss it. Still, if anybody would…”

Christ, Q was an irritating sod when he wanted to be.

Still, Bond headed out, to find the Land Rover waiting for him. “Ugliest car in the world.”

“Just what you need. Now get in, and come home. I miss you.”

The slightest touch of tenderness, of warmth, and it was more than enough. “On my way,” Bond promised, and started the engine.


	741. Chapter 741

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! My birthday is on Saturday and I’d love it if you filled my prompt! — Q and James are a pair of monster hunters in the victorian era. They hunt all sorts of things, vampires, werewolves etc. Q makes the gadgets that James uses to kill monsters, and James is the one who comes home with monster blood all over him. :3 – descentofwinter

The silver-bulleted gun was still Bond’s favourite by a mile, but the crossbow came in at a close second.

“You look a state,” Q tutted, as Bond walked through the door, drenched near-enough head to toe in blood; the vampire blood was a particularly nasty smell as well, which annoyed Q beyond measure. “Don’t drip on the rug.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, and stalked past Q, dropping the crossbow in the middle of the floor. “You will be cleaning that yourself, and if it is damaged I will make your life distinctly less pleasant.”

From the doorway, Bond grunted, before disappearing to clean himself up.

Q waited, diverting his attention towards another of his new creations: a zombie antidote that had a chance on working on human victims, before the virus spread.

Bond ambled out, shirtless, ruffling his blond hair out. “How are you today?”

“Fine,” Q drawled. “I have spent all day working with astringent chemicals, and now have the acrid scent of vampire blood that will take  _hours_  to fade. I’m supposing you have at least two vampires and a werewolf done for the day? Bodies?”

“Disposed of as protocol,” Bond yawned, and collapsed into an armchair. “How’s the antidote coming?”

“I think, I  _think_ ,” Q muttered, “it’s near enough done. I’ll need a human test subject, of course…”

Bond watched Q with quiet interest. “I think I can arrange that fairly imminently,” he said lightly; Q glanced up, and his face instantly paled.

 “Oh, for the love of  _god_ ,” he gasped. “James, what on  _earth_  have you done to yourself?!”

Bond grinned, all teeth, with a bandage over his shoulder. “Got myself mauled,” he shrugged. “Zombie. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be delighted to test your newfound antidote.”

Q was unbelievably pale. “And if it doesn’t work?” he asked, with forced politeness. “Then what, pray tell?”

“We see,” Bond replied, with insulting brightness, and smiled with frank ferocity. “How about it then.

Q let out a slight whimper of hopelessness, and prepared to dose his partner up as best he could, and pray to God above that his lover was not about to become a zombie.


	742. Chapter 742

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love your writing!! When you have time, could you maybe do a prompt where Bond has tons and tons of pics of Q naked and has some videos too and Q finding out? How he reacts is up to you! :D – anon

“Bond, step into my office.”

Bond sauntered in, looking none the worse for wear, minions’ eyes tracing him as he went. “Shut the door,” Q ordered, voice laudably steady given what he had called Bond in for.

The door slid shut, and Q locked it audibly. “How intimate,” Bond smirked.

Q did not smile back.

Bond stilled, and his voice was the gentleness he saved only for Q. “What’s wrong?”

For a few moments, Q just tried to find words, shaking his head with quiet disbelief and shock; finally, he settled for gesturing at his screen.

Bond swore for one of a very select few times in his life.

“Oh fuck.”

“Quite,” Q returned, finally finding words. “Would you like to explain yourself?”

Bond honestly had no idea where to start. He had photos of Q since the start of their relationship, all the way through, at various stages. “I thought you knew,” he mumbled.

“Of course I knew! That isn’t the issue!”

Q looked flushed and angry and definitely not happy in the slightest and Bond simply didn’t understand  _why_. “Erm…” he managed, trailing off a little. “I’m sorry, but…”

“ _You uploaded them onto the MI6 network_.”

Bond’s eyes widened, almost comically. “Oh.”

“Yes, you bloody bet  _oh_. The minions found them.”

“ _Oh_.”

It all made a lot more sense.

Q looked like he wanted very badly to rip Bond’s head from his shoulders. “What on earth possessed you?” he hissed. “ _On a public network._  You are banned, positively and absolutely  _banned_ from taking more photos of me, and I’ve already released the spandex-photos as my revenge.”

“You did  _what_?!”

“You. Spandex. I have  _absolutely_  no regrets, you absolute moron.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “I should think so. Never again.”

Bond nodded sheepishly. “Never again,” he said quickly, deeply apologetic. “Never,  _ever_  again. I’m sorry.”

To Bond’s relief, Q visibly softened, and brought Bond into a close embrace. “You’re an idiot.”

Bond smiled into Q’s shoulder. “Yes, but I’m your idiot, and you’re extremely gorgeous when you’re naked.”

Q whacked him, but Bond heard the small snort of laughter, and knew he would be forgiven.


	743. Chapter 743

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a fic where Bond wakes up to Q reaching for something on the top shelf wearing nothing but sweatpants that sit on him wayyy down like you can see the curve of his arse and all? – anon

Bond blinked languidly, yawning as he tried to convinced himself that wakefulness was not, in fact, the end of the world.

His body and brain had yet to be convinced of that fact.

“Q?”

The usual, comforting presence of his partner was not there. The warmth expected in the bed next to was absent, with only the after-effects of a body to suggest there had been somebody there at all.

Of course, Bond was sitting up in an instant. “Q?” he asked, a little more sharply.

“Just a second.”

The mildly irate reply came from near the door; Bond glanced over, and saw his partner trying to grab down an exceptionally battered-looking something that was once presumably computer-based. Q was handling it as though it were likely to go off at any moment – given Q, not an implausible scenario – and Bond didn’t really care, as it meant Q was moving slowly.

Moving slowly, while wearing near-enough nothing but Bond’s old tracksuit trousers, that were very nearly entirely falling off.

“… Q?”

“ _Did I not say in a second_?!”

More irate, but Q’s arse tensed as the rest of him became angrier; Bond all but  _purred_  as he saw Q’s body become entirely formed of eloquent lines and perfect curves in every single location one could want.

Q returned to normal posture, device resting on a lower shelf, and Bond could honestly say he was disappointed.

Q noticed. “Everything alright?”

Bond nodded dutifully.

“You’re looking at me weirdly.

“You’re looking _gorgeous_.”

It was certainly gorgeous watching Q’s face flush a little, his smirk just the correct side of cheeky. “Prove it,” he grinned, and yelped with shock as Bond pounced forward, kissing him senseless.


	744. Chapter 744

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fem!Q who’s never been pampered her entire life and now that shes with james, he just wants to buy her the entire world? – anon

“What’s this?” Q asked, with tangible confusion, pushing her hair out of her eyes with tangible annoyance, blinking behind the frames of her oversized glasses.

Bond smirked, ice blue eyes curiously kind and just a touch playful. “This is a bunch of flowers,” he said, with bouncing sarcasm; Q debating whacking him, but settled for a raised eyebrow and sarcasm.

“Yes, I ascertained that much.  _Why_  is it a bunch of flowers?”

Bond blinked. “I don’t know, it’s an existential question I’m sure said flowers can discuss at length with you later.”

Q let out a huff of mild irritation. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Why did you get me them? They’re lovely, I just…”

Bond smirked. “Romance. General care for one’s partner. That sort of thing. Why, haven’t you experienced flowers before? Chocolates? Wine and dining at restaurants where men resolutely refuse to let you pay?”

Q didn’t reply, and that was all the answer Bond needed.

“Alright then,” he said firmly. “Time you did. Dinner at eight tomorrow night, I’ll pick you up from HQ.”

“We’re splitting the bill,” Q told Bond quickly, as he strode towards the door.

Without turning back, Bond just repeated: “Resolutely.”

-

As it turned out, Bond not lying. He absolutely and entirely meant resolutely. Q valiantly attempted to force him to split the bill, and when Bond practically threatened the waiter when Q tried, she resolved to  _destroy_  his credit rating and/or transfer money to him out of revenge (which one would depend on how benevolent she was randomly feeling).

They went to Bond’s flat, and there were candles and gentle music and Q just blinked a number of times and gaped outright. “Bond, you…” she managed, more than flustered and into the realms of sincerely confused.

“You’ve clearly not been romanced or treated how a woman like you should be,” Bond told her, with a simplicity that Q found difficult to handle. “This is how I treat women I care about, and I hope you don’t find it too abhorrent.”

Q had no idea what to say.

Instead, she slid her arms around Bond, and stayed there as he enveloped her in impossibly warm arms and looked after her, cared for her, in a way she hadn’t known possible.


	745. Chapter 745

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings. I’ve fallen in love with both of your works and I was wondering if I could maybe add a prompt for you. Q, for whatever reason, is walking past the pool at MI6 and notices James at the bottom, not moving. Q freaks out and ‘saves’ James even though he isn’t the best swimmer, but James does it to relax and he can hold his breath a really long time. Amused!James and Embarased!Q if at all possible. Their relationship is up to you. Keep creating works of beauty. –Anon

Q’s eyes widened.

Without a heartbeat of hesitation, he was stripping and chucking his glasses to one side, into the water within a handful of seconds in a dive that professional swimmers would be proud of if they were drunk.

In short, Q bellyflopped and hoped for the best.

Bond was surprisingly easy to manoeuvre, Q pulling at him with a type of frantic yank, absolutely _terrified_  that the agent was dead and how in the  _hell_  had he managed, what was he  _doing_ , what could have possibly happened and Q was panicking to the extent that he felt extremely unwell.

He broke the surface of the water with a gasp.

So did Bond.

Bond, in fact, just looked faintly amused. Q gaped, could safely say he had no  _sodding_  idea what was going on. “Bond?” he asked, a touch nervously. “What the  _fuck_?!”

“Language,” Bond berated teasingly. “And I should be asking you the same question. You’re only in underwear, by the way.”

“ _No shit_. I thought you were  _dead_.”

Bond blinked, and proceeded to break into snorting laughter. Q, meanwhile, flushed from what felt like the tips of his toes to his forehead, trying to understand what in the hell he had done wrong, remembering the still and definitely dead-looking form that had been at the bottom of the pool. “ _What_?!”

“I was just settled. I can hold my breath for a very long time. I find it extremely calming. There’s no noise but water, you concentrate on your breath and your body and it’s… Q, you can’t swim, can’t you?”

Q attempting to tread water, and not doing overly well at it.

“Not as such.”

Bond rolled his eyes, scooped a very wet Q up and managed to place him on the side of the pool in a feat of skill that Q couldn’t help but gawp at. He had no idea how Bond hadn’t sunk like a stone.

Bond found it  _hilarious_.

Q was still pink from head to toe. “I hate you. You scare people.”

“Thank you for the endearing concern for my safety. There are spare towels in the changing rooms.”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Q stood, collected his clothing and angled it over his wet-boxer-clad groin, and stalked away.


	746. Chapter 746

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maleficent au where Bond curses Q but ends up falling for him – anon

The child was supposedly a prodigy: talented, intelligent and fresh.

In short, everything James Bond no longer was. He had had his day, when smooth talking and muscles were enough to get you by - but apparently, this ‘Q’ was the newest model, and Bond was outdated.

The boy wasn’t much to look at. Small, pale, enough dark curls to mop a floor with; Bond observed him with his computers, two monitors flickering in the darkened room while his fingers danced over keys.

Bond rolled up his sleeves, and began to murmur under his breath.

Curses were forbidden in most lines of work, but a licence for dark magic was something Bond counted in his favour. His fingertips crackled, energy flicking outwards as he continued. Glasses: that was easy, take his vision. Fear of heights: no problem. Agoraphobia was impossible, the young man’s body refusing to respond. Claustrophobia, on the other hand, swallowed the boy inwards and trapped him.

Finally: should he lose more than three drops of blood in one go, he would fall into a sleep that only true love could break.

Bond was quite proud of the last one.

He retreated, leaving no sign that he had ever been there.

-

Of course, the pair of them worked together. Bond saw a good amount of him, saw that his spells had taken – the most dramatic was unlikely to work if the others hadn’t held – and watched him get glasses, stop hiding away in his office and preferring to work in the open space of the Q-branch floor. Later, he would refuse to fly out for a mission, and Bond knew that he had succeeded.

The problem came when he started to realise that for all Bond’s jealousy, Q was a truly wonderful young man. Not a child, but an adult with a child’s laugh, and he was compelling in every sense Bond could imagine.

It took very little time to realise that he was quite entirely in love with the boy, which complicated things chronically. Abruptly, Bond found himself necessarily ensuring – in every way he could – that Q would not be harmed in  _any way_. Falling over, broken glass, experiments in Q-branch; it was all so _easy_. Which was the original point of course, but it was still  _wrong_.

Of course, it couldn’t last forever.

Bond was on a mission, and Q was in-branch, testing an exploding pen.

“We have a problem with Q.”

Bond was on a plane in a heartbeat,  _terrified_  that he may have just lost Q, and acutely aware that it was entirely his fault.

\---

Q was lying, ice-white, lips tinged blue, hair falling across his face. His glasses sat on the side table, folded, awaiting their wearer.

Bond watched, immovable.

“You can assist?” M was asking, his voice a distant hum in Bond’s ear, not something he was or could listen to. “Restore him?”

Bond didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. There were fairly few in the world with the black magic capabilities to cause Q’s predicament, and there were nowhere near enough who were close to Q to cast the damn thing, and even  _fewer_  who stood a chance of lifting it.

To explain it, he would have to confess that he had cast it.

“I have no idea,” he lied instead, and walked away, something in his heart clenching painfully at the understanding that this was  _his fault_.

-

Q remained in Medical, hooked to indefinite numbers of monitors, tube-fed, kept alive; he was simply asleep, a sleep that would not lift, and everybody just wanted him back. Q-branch mourned, held vigils, sacrifices. An impossible number of sheep died in the name of returning Q to the land of the living.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

Eve’s voice was quiet and non-judgemental, and Bond tried to find words to explain: “I was jealous, I didn’t know him. It was… it was a mistake. I’ve been trying to make sure this would never happen, that this part of the curse would never come true.”

Bond hadn’t expected Eve to be sympathetic, and of course, she wasn’t. “How can you lift it?”

“True love’s kiss,” Bond replied, and watched her eyes widen. “Yes, I know, I’m an idiot and a sadist to use something so impossible, it’s an antiquated tradition but it seemed like such a good idea at the time. I don’t know why. I’m a moron.”

“Yes, you are,” Eve agreed simply. “Bond, you’re it.”

Bond’s eyebrows near-enough met in the middle. “What?”

“You’re his true love. That much is painfully obvious.”

The joke was just  _not_  what Bond needed. “Don’t take the piss, Eve,” he asked tiredly. “I miss him. I really don’t need you mocking me about it.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “I mean it, James. He loves you, and you love him. Yes?”

“I don’t love him.”

Of course, Eve’s expression could have sliced stone. Bond wilted, but refused to concede defeat; Eve just stared at him, shook her head. “Your stupidity is keeping him like this,” she told him firmly. “Deal with it. We need him back.”

With that, she left.

-

It was three in the morning when Bond broke into Medical.


	747. Chapter 747

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m addicted to you, seriously guys. So here’s the prompt: Q doesn’t always enjoy the sex. They finally talk about it. – anon

“It’s not you,”

“Always a good opener,” Bond cut in, shifting a little nervously. To the naked eye it would seem casual, nonchalant.

Q knew that his partner was shitting himself.

“I’m not leaving you, James,” Q assured him, with a small smirk. “It’s just, I’m not that sexual a being. Occasionally, I’ll know you’re in the mood and it’s not like it’s an  _awful_  experience…”

“Thank god,” Bond muttered. Q shot him a look that could wither plants.

“… not awful, just I don’t really enjoy it. It can be uncomfortable, painful or just not what I fancy,” he finished, tea clutched rather possessively to his chest as some form of makeshift shield, and he continued hoping against hope that Bond could understand.

Evidently not.

“Why bother? Why not just tell me to piss off?” Bond asked, as Q relaxed his grip around the mug of tea.

 "I don’t want to disappoint you. You’re James bloody Bond! Sex is part of who you  _are._ “

Bond raised an eyebrow. “My reputation is the reason you’re putting yourself through something you don’t especially enjoy?”

Q rolled his eyes with quiet exasperation. “It’s not your reputation. It’s what you seem to  _want_. Believe it or not, I’m not a masochist; I want you to be happy, I don’t want you to feel inadequate as you evidently  _do_  now we’re talking about it.”

“I don’t.”

Q just stared at him. Bond buckled. “I’m sorry,” Q ventured.

“Can you blame me?” Bond returned, the heaviness of it all weighing on him. “It’s inadequacy as a partner as much as anything else – I’ve been making you uncomfortable and hurt over something ultimately… I can deal with myself if I need to, and other than that there is…” Bond trailed, retraced words. “You’re gorgeous, and yes, I like sex. But you mean more to me than somebody to sleep with.”

“Thank you.”

Bond shrugged with almost amusing nonchalance. “Q, please tell me in future,” he asked quietly. “If there’s  _anything_  you’re unhappy with, I’d like to know. Most of these things are fixable, but not if you _don’t tell me_. I have to be able to trust you to tell me to stop.”

Q looked rather surprised for a long moment. “You don’t trust me?”

The conversation appeared to have taken a rather interesting turn. “You’ve just told me I’ve been unknowingly making you do things you’d prefer not to,” Bond told him, as tactfully as he could. “I trust you, but this can’t happen again. Please.”

Slowly, uncertainly, Q nodded. “Okay.”

Bond’s expression hadn’t quite settled, a suggestion of something uncomfortable in his eyes as he pulled Q in, and held on.


	748. Chapter 748

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you maybe write an AU where q and vesper were brother and sister? And James doesn’t find out until he and Q are very deep into their relationship? Thanks! – smallandsad

“We are not inviting Michael,” Q said resolutely, practically slicing through the list with the pen in an effort to cross the man’s name out.

“I thought you liked him!” Bond protested, earning him a raised eyebrow. “He works for you…”

“Yes, and you speak endlessly of his talents regarding cars,” Q replied. “He’s not coming.”

Wedding planning. Bond had thought he had met his greatest foes until this moment. Eve was a wonderful help, but when it came to guest lists, apparently he was on his own.

Bond grabbed the list, looking over it. “We are running a little short… are you sure none of your family…”

“No,” Q cut in, tone clear that he wanted the subject over.

Bond nodded, running his finger down the list again.

“It’s not because of you,” Q told him, after a lengthy silence.

Bond glanced up in immediate surprise. Q did not discuss his family. At all. For as long as Bond had known him, the subject had been near-enough taboo; Bond had no problems with that, per se, but naturally was rather curious.

Q watched him, expression utterly guarded. “James, if I tell you something, will you  _promise_  not to completely freak out?”

Not the most auspicious of starts. “I’ll do my best,” Bond replied, as cautiously as he could. “Are you alright?”

“My family. I’ve never told you about them, because you used to know my sibling extremely well, and I’m once again going to ask you to  _please_  not respond histrionically to what I’m about to tell you.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “The more preamble, the more concerned I’m getting.”

“Vesper Lynd was my sister.”

Everything screeched to a rather abrupt and unfair halt in Bond’s head.

“Sorry?” he asked, voice hoarse, almost inaudible.

Q stared at him like a rabbit in headlights, very still. “I never knew how to tell you,” he managed softly. “Vesper, she was… I know how much she meant to you, you don’t ever say her name or speak about her, I didn’t especially want to bring it up with you, I thought you’d probably… well. React badly.”

Bond couldn’t even work out  _why_  he was responding so badly. Vesper had been dead for years. Even her shadows had faded to translucent, and didn’t linger in corners as they once had.

Q looked frankly terrified.

It occurred to Bond that he hadn’t said anything in an extremely long time.

“I didn’t expect that,” he managed.

Q’s smile was small and tremulous and nervous. “Well no, I can imagine not,” he returned. “Erm… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I just didn’t… I don’t talk to my family, and Vesp’s death was hard for all of us, so I didn’t… and just, I’m sorry…”

Bond held up a placatory hand, letting Q trail off. “It’s alright.”

“What?”

“It’s alright,” Bond repeated, reaching out, placing a hand over Q’s. “I’m going to need a little time to… register it, I suppose… but I’m not angry.”

Q all but keeled to one side, into Bond’s arms.

The shadows in the corners twitched, and Bond’s heart stammered in his chest.


	749. Chapter 749

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if this has been asked before, but here it is anyways. I can’t help but think that the song All of Me by John Legend is James’s theme for Q. A fic around that song, pretty please? Thank you! – anon

Bond watched him, quietly and carefully, and couldn’t help smiling very slightly at the look in Q’s eyes when he noticed.

Q always noticed. It was, perhaps, Bond’s favourite thing about him: when it seemed as though it were simple to be forgotten entirely, Q would notice and remember and  _realise_. Bond could never be nothing; Q would find him and retrieve him from the brink of self-destruction with little more than an acerbic comment which, frankly, would be more than enough.

“You love me quite a lot, don’t you?” Q noted teasingly; Bond, without apology or hesitation, nodded. Q blinked. “Well. That’s flattering.”

Bond shrugged very slightly. “I can’t imagine how I wouldn’t love you,” he told Q quietly. “It’s slightly strange.”

A raised eyebrow: “You’re under no compulsion,” Q pointed out, with a touch of true uncertainty. “If you… I mean, if you  _don’t_  actually, I won’t…”

Bond quieted him with a kiss, while his brain whirred in the background, trying to pull apart quite how, quite  _what_ , had happened to make him quite so entwined with Q; a ridiculously smart mouth, clever and sharp and acerbic in the extreme.

Really, Q was a bit of a twat, but that somehow made Bond love him inexpressibly  _more_.

It was a little insulting, if Bond thought about it. Q was a fair deal younger than him, arrogant, a higher rank in an organisation Bond had lived in for as long as he could remember, and  _fuck_  but Q could let out the slightest of suggestions on his lips and Bond was there.

“There is no way you’re good for me,” Bond grumbled, as Q near enough rugby tackled him upon entering Q-branch after a two-month mission. “I missed you.”

“And that’s an issue?” Q snorted.

Bond kissed the top of his head, breathing in Q’s familiar scent, the calm of it. “I don’t think it’s a _brilliant_  thing,” he pointed out, as he returned to normal – whatever version of ‘normal’ he and Q had – with the younger man’s breath warm and arms stronger than Bond knew he could be. “Emotionally compromising.”

Q whacked him around the back of the head. Bond couldn’t really say he didn’t deserve it. “James Bond, you are an  _idiot_.”

 _Yes_ , Bond agreed internally, and didn’t say a word.

Q would be the death of him, one day, and he couldn’t even bring himself to mind.

He held Q so close he thought something had to break, and chose to never imagine a time he would have to let go.


	750. Chapter 750

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi could i have prompt where eve, tanner, the double ohs, M, Q, and maybe a few minions are doing that ‘Never have I ever’ drinking game and someone says 'never have i ever slept with someone twice my age’ and everyone just waits for Q to drink (cause he’s involved with Bond), he doesn’t and it turns out he’s like 38 or something. (Sorry that was really long winded and complicated I apologise with many internet hugs) – anon

MI6 was, near-enough unanimously, drunk.

Enough people were lingering at various levels of importance to keep MI6 running, but really, the overwhelming majority were sat in a circle in the middle of Q-branch rattling through horrendously large quantities of alcohol, some of questionable, some of excellent, and some of experimental quality (Q-branch were entirely to blame for the last) and so, alcoholism and drinking games had ensued.

R was lying in 001’s lap. She had passed out about ten minutes previously, and 001 was stroking through her hair carefully; unlike her partner, 001 was able to hold pace with the other double-ohs, and so was all ready and prepared to fire off:  
“Never have I ever had sex with somebody twice my age”.

There was raucous laughter at that, of course. Tanner blushed bright crimson and mumbled something about a girlfriend when he was sixteen, but mostly, everybody turned to stare at their esteemed inebriated Quartermaster.

Who looked back at them, slightly bleary and confused. “Yes?” he asked, a touch slurred.

“You have to drink?”

“Why?” Q asked, looking to his empty glass and back to 001 with tangible confusion.

Somebody saw fit to refill Q’s glass. He ignored it for a moment on principle.

“You’re dating Bond.”

Q glanced to Bond, looked him up and down. Nodded appreciatively. (Bond nodded back, suppressing a smirk). Q turned back to 001.

“Am I missing something here?” he asked, still pointedly not drinking the drink he  _really_  wanted to drink.

M sighed. He had near-enough polished off his bottle of 20-year-old aged whiskey through the course of the evening, and regretted near enough nothing. “We all  _know_.”

“Yes, I  _know_  you know,” Q managed, gesticulating at Bond. “We had sex in my office,  _all_  the minions know…”

“Cheers for that.”

“ _Shh_.”

“So  _drink_.”

Q blinked. “The drinky thing was for people twice your age!”

Everybody looked to one another with palpable confusion. In their defence, Q and Bond both looked equally confused. “Bond’s twice your age, surely?” Tanner broached, barely comprehensible in his speech.

Q and Bond looked at one another. Snorted with laughter.

“I’m  _thirty-eight_ ,” Q pointed out, cackling. “Fuck, I’m almost  _older than him_. He’s certainly not twice my age! You’re all _idiots_.”

Tanner, equally, was pissing himself; he was head of HR, he knew full well that Q was older than he looked. Everybody thought he was younger. Most pitched his age at early twenties, a couple at _maximum_  twenty-seven.

“You can’t laugh. Twice your age,” 001 pointed out disconsolately.

Tanner shut up. Bond just snogged Q senseless, and Q downed his shot glass without a heartbeat of hesitation.


	751. Chapter 751

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t read a lot of your fics, but what i have read are AMAZING. so maybe Bond comes back from a tough mission and gets a oral fixation for q? – anon

Bond had never known a man get through so many pens.

Q would chew each one to distraction – somehow, that particular fact didn’t surprise Bond much – until the query of why no exploding ones was answered: Q ended up with a mouthful of ink, his lips were tinged blue-black for two days, and Bond couldn’t stop laughing about it.

Bond had never really noticed it until now.

Suddenly, everything about Q’s mouth was addictive to him. The slightest lick of the lips, each tiny movement was magnetic; he couldn’t help but wonder what else Q would look good with his mouth around, couldn’t help but stare at the dance of tongue and teeth, the colour and eloquence and _dexterity_ , and…

“Are you listening 007, or are you still gazing at my chewing gum?”

Reality impacted with dry sarcasm and amusement, as was Q’s habit. Bond really didn’t have a leg to stand on, and so didn’t try. “I was gazing,” he replied instead, very simply.

To his credit, Q didn’t question. “If you could attempt listening, that would make my life simpler,” he stated drily, blinking at Bond with vague disbelief and less vague contempt. “Good. Now that I have your attention…”

Q was being either naïve or deeply optimistic if he thought Bond was even slightly paying attention to his words. The lips were of  _considerable_  more interest.

“Oh, for  _god’s sake_.”

Bond couldn’t help but give the man credit: Bond didn’t know what was happening before Q was pouncing at him, and the only thought left to Bond was that his lips were also going to be stained a strange blue-black colour, and he had honestly no idea how he was going to explain that to Eve.

Q pulled back, looking satisfied and terrifyingly, irritatingly collected.  “Better?” he asked conversationally.

“I’m fairly sure that constitutes workplace assault.”

Of course, Q just raised an eyebrow. “Dinner? I finish at eight, you can arrange the rest,  _on the proviso_ that you actually listen to the rest of this conversation.”

Bond couldn’t have constructed an argument if he’d tried, and so, he didn’t. Instead, he rather pointedly stared at Q’s hands instead.

It didn’t help much, in the end.

-

On the bright side, his lips weren’t the only thing stained by the end of the night.


	752. Chapter 752

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Can I ask for a fic where James is actually just as tech savvy as Q, so when Q needs some help getting through something, James sits down next to him and they power through the firewalls together? Thanks! – sanadaaki

“ _Fuck this shit!_ ”

Bond glanced through from the kitchen curiously, elbow-deep in soap suds in a rare but appreciated go at doing the washing up; Q refused to do it as a matter of principle and laziness, and Bond just wasn’t around enough. When they had completely run out of even mugs – and Q conceded that his working mugs had their own ecosystems – Bond finally caved.

It stood to reason that Q would find a way to distract him. “What’s happened?” he asked, a touch tiredly, his partner sat cross-legged with a laptop perched as precariously as his glasses were.

Q looked up. The glasses conceded defeat to gravity. They clattered on the keyboard, as Q let out a petulant whine. “I can’t get through these  _bloody_  firewalls,” he announced petulantly, gesticulating at a screen with print too small for Bond to see from a distance.

“And?”

Q retrieved his glasses, pressing them onto his face without much care – they were his home glasses, a cheap and cheerful version of the thick-rimmed designer ones he sported at work – and glowering at the screen with all the venom of an irate kitten. “You know precisely what I’m asking.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Bond replied, with malicious amusement.

Of course, Q shot him the filthiest look his features could come up with, and let out a small snarling noise. “I need your help. I can’t do this on my own. Help.”

“With pleasure,” Bond purred, and pulled his own laptop out from its home under the sofa – Q let out a squeak of despair, but refrained from comment – and let Q talk him through what was going on.

Bond had no reverence for technology, no. He could not be trusted to keep them safe, and didn’t really care.

That didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use it. In fact, to Q’s great irritation, Bond was very  _very_  good with technology.

“Got it?”

Bond didn’t answer, jaw set; Q let out a slow breath as paths became easier to navigate, progressions devoid of stress, of secondary or tertiary attacks. “Gotcha,” he murmured, and – finally – grinned absurdly widely.

Next to him, Bond nodded in quiet appreciation of a job well done. “You’re doing the washing up next time,” he said lightly, as Q delved deeper with a triumphant cackle.

He didn’t even try to argue.


	753. Chapter 753

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wants to know where the relationship is going and Q tells him they’ll figure it out on the way, and james loves him even more for that. – anon

Q was almost entirely asleep, and so definitely not in any place to do much other than make vaguely pathetic, distressed noises when Bond took it upon himself to abruptly – and with great vigour – ask: “Where is this going?”

For a bizarre moment, Q actually glanced up and down him, half-expecting him to be presenting something like a cat or a garden gnome. Something to which he could tangibly respond, rather than the terrifying fact of Absolute Ambiguity or worse – as Q realised a handful of minutes later – questions about his and Bond’s relationship.

“You mean…”

“Us,” Bond clarified.

Q restrained himself from acknowledging the blind terror associated with such a question, and the inevitable concern that he was about to manage a colossal cock-up and lose one of the better things to happen to him in living memory.

Thus, his answer was measured, careful. “I don’t know, at the moment,” he said honestly, keeping eye contact, Bond’s blue boring into him. “I’m… I’m up for just seeing as we go, really. I have no idea, I haven’t been in a serious relationship for as long as I can remember, so… I mean, is that okay? Is there somewhere in particular you’re hoping to go?”

Bond was smiling very slightly. The fact of that was enough to make Q both nervous and pissed off in equal and maybe slightly unfair measure.

“What?” he asked, with snappy defensiveness.

To Q’s surprise, Bond smiled. A quiet, perfectly un-edged smile. “That’s actually what I was hoping you’d say,” he confessed.

Q blinked. “Come again?”

“I don’t have a plan,” Bond shrugged. “Never have in my life. I just wanted to check you weren’t desperately keen to settle down and have children in the next couple of years…”

“ _No_ , god no,” Q said quickly, cutting Bond off, suddenly restarting again: “I mean, you don’t… you definitely don’t want…”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Q, I’m a double-oh agent,” he reminded drily. “Children would be a very bad idea, wouldn’t you think?”

Q shrugged, palms up, eyes very slightly wide. “Children scare the hell out of me.”

Bond laughed, followed by Q, a moment later; the latter hadn’t realised quite how worried he was until Bond assuaged all of said worries at once. “Okay,” he managed, a little while later. “You’re happy?”

“Delighted,” Bond replied, and kissed Q with a gentleness that took his breath away.


	754. Chapter 754

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I send you one in like a week ago but I just thought of another one or at least something for you to draw inspiration from ‘Bond has a secret admirer, Q has a secret’ (sorry please and thank you I’ll give you like 50 freddo frogs) – thearchangelofloki

It was actually rather endearing, and unsubtle to a spectacular level for a collection of people supposedly in espionage: every single gift, without exception, was technologically-based.

The man gave him a bloody  _exploding pen_. Bond couldn’t work out on what planet that could be construed as subtlety.

It began on Valentine’s Day, because it appeared that Q was just that sort of a sap. Bond wouldn’t have believed it, were it not for the fact that he nearly blew off his own fingers establishing whether or not Q was taking the piss.

The ostentatious card had accompanied it. The card was about the size of Bond’s forearm; altogether, rather formidable, and very  _sparkly_.

“Q, would you care to explain?”

Q’s head popped up from the other side of his desk. He looked Bond up and down, with mild but evident curiosity. “No, not especially,” he replied brightly, and ducked back again.

A moment more, and he emerged again. “Why  _would_  I have anything to say?”

“Because you sent me it?”

Q glanced the card up and down, looked to Bond, looked back at the card.

Snorted, with enough enthusiasm to nearly propel mucus across Bond and indeed the card. “Of course I didn’t, you idiot,” he replied, with mocking dismissiveness. “It’s not exactly my style, is it?!”

“I never know, with you,” Bond groused; Q just shook his head slightly, blinked with disbelief. “Alright, point taken. But the pen…?”

Q raised an eyebrow. Bond took his cue to disappear.

-

It had to be said: the flowers weren’t what Bond expected, but they  _had_  to be Q-related. The man had even written  _to my favourite old man_. Nobody else would  _dare_  send something like that to Bond.

Q was, of course, resolutely denying all involvement and/or knowledge, which seemed somewhat unfair.

“ _Bond, get in here_.”

Bond ambled in, to find Q clutching a gun. “That’s not what I expected,” Bond acknowledged, with a small but admittedly rather wary smile.

“You got your Walther back intact.”

It was tempting, very tempting, to lie. “No.”

“That’s what I thought. So why,  _why_ ,” Q continued, still holding the gun, “is this back to me  _in one piece?_ ”

Bond blinked. “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he replied levelly. “Q, I’m sorry to say this – but I think your minions have been up to something.”

Q, of course, promptly paled. It made  _so much sense_. “They’re trying to get us together. I  _knew this would happen_. I’m going to  _kill_  Eve.”

“What?”

“She had a bet.  _They’ve been doing this from the outset._  Your pen. The cards. The weaponry back, the notes, the post-its…”

“The  _what_?”

“I’m going to kill her,” Q reiterated, and stormed out of the office.


	755. Chapter 755

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q - “Q was the kind of target Bond was paid to protect.” from consultingwriters.tumblr.com/post/91476417047/i-love-your-writing-could-you-do-a-00q-fic-based made me think. Are there any fics out there where this happens (AA or not) or are you willing to write me something inspired by that? ;D Especially with Q being all pissed off about having this guy bossing him around to ‘protect’ him when he can totally take care of himself… until he actually starts to like the agent. – anon

Q was elegant and eloquent and a pain in the arse and holy fucking  _hell_  but the man was difficult to keep track of. Bond had to give him credit; quite how anybody was going to do him any damage when he was barely in one place for more than about five minutes at a time was beyond him.

“I do  _not_  need a babysitter.”

“Good thing I’m not a babysitter then,” Bond replied crisply – Q just snarled – and remained steadfastly by Q’s side.

Apparently, the Quartermaster needed a security detail around the clock for a little while. There had been some issues with international information exchange, which Q had all but stage-managed; thus, Bond was tasked with trying to keep track of the most evasive bastard he’d probably ever encountered.

Q did not want Bond around. Bond didn’t especially want to be either.

They endured one another’s company with the grace of a disgruntled rhino. When it became evident that Bond and Q were to be sharing a flat, Q near-enough lost his mind. “This is a  _nightmare_ ,” he whined, as Bond set himself up on the couch without comment.

“Yes, I’m having the time of my life,” Bond replied curtly. “Go to bed.”

Q snarled viciously at nothing in particular, again, and did as he was told.

-

It was a fortnight before Q began to soften a little around the edges, and it was not with good grace. “You make good tea,” he grouched.

“I do watch you sometimes, you know,” Bond parried, and it was true; he had all but studied the way Q made his tea, the precise seconds to allow it to steep, the careful addition of a splash of milk. Allowing the kettle to cool for about thirty seconds before it coming anywhere near the tea – avoiding scalding the delicate leaves – and all the parts in between.

Q glanced up at him, slightly – shy? Reticent? Bond hadn’t the faintest idea what to call his expression – and nodded his gratitude.

-

“Stop flirting.”

Bond twisted to Q with something like shock, something like horror. “Stop  _what_?” he echoed.

Q was staring at him, with a cup of tea and a dark-chocolate covered digestive in hand, almost in tears. “You’re  _flirting_ ,” he accused, waving the biscuit around like it had done him a personal affront. “This.  _This_.”

“… a digestive?” Bond queried. “I thought you liked those…”

“ _Of course I bloody do that’s the whole problem!_ ” Q screeched.

Bond was rendered utterly speechless, and utterly confused. “I’ve done something you like,” he managed slowly, “and that is the cause of this level of upset? It’s not flirting. I care about you, so I’m doing things that make you happy…”

“That is the literal definition of flirting,” Q continued, narrowly avoiding throwing tea down himself; Bond darted forward all the same, just in case he was required. “Oh,  _fuck off Bond_.”

“You like me too.”

Q blinked. “That’s not the point.”

“Yes, it is. Reciprocal flirting is…”

Q snarled. Again. Bond had ceased to be afraid or concerned by it.

They stared at one another.

“Dinner?” Q asked aggressively.

Bond restrained a smirk. “I’ll be here anyway, remember? But yes – I’ll organise it all.”

Q nodded with as much dignity as he could muster, and stalked away again.


	756. Chapter 756

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love your writing! Can I ask for a fill? How about some accidental 00Q kissing? Maybe Bond trips over something, or perhaps Moneypenny is an evil genius and pushes Q towards Bond. Either way, they accidentally lock lips. Lots fluff and flustered faces and cuteness please~ <3 – anon

Q was clumsy at the best of the times. For somebody in charge of a phenomenally large amount of expensive equipment, he couldn’t be even slightly trusted not to trip over his own feet in spectacular fashion.

Bond, meanwhile, was impossible to trick into anything and would remain standing through a hurricane – literally had, at one stage, when Q and the minions had been testing out a simulator – and even would come out the other side looking in control of himself and rather gorgeous to boot.

Unlike Q, who felt like an absolute muppet and was absolutely and completely certain it was his fault when he tripped over Eve’s perfectly pointy high heeled shoe, and ended up face first in James Bond.

Lips first, actually, although he didn’t realise until an awful handful of seconds had passed.

Both looked at one another. Q didn’t have words. Bond didn’t seem to have many either, which was somewhat confusing.

“You…”

“ _You_ ,” Q contradicted, with what remained of his dignity. “That was indisputably you. I  _refuse_  to believe that was anything other than  _your fault_.”

Bond didn’t seem to give a damn about whose ‘fault’ it was. In fact, the only thing he seemed to want to do was faceplant Q  _again_ , which just  _didn’t make sense_  and so Q took a step back, tripped over Moneypenny’s  _other_  perfectly pointy high heeled shoe, and toppled over backwards.

If it hadn’t been for Bond having the reflexes of a snake, he would have found himself smacking  _very_ hard into a desk. As it was, Q was wrenched upright before he really realised he was going backwards.

“You’re the clumsiest man I have ever met,” Bond told him, voice low and somehow  _purring_. “Be more careful, next time.”

Face. Near Q’s. For the third time.

Q let out an indignant squawk, and found himself with  _no clue_  what to do when Bond’s lips met his.

They remained like that for a suspended few, awful, wonderful moments. Bond didn’t pull away. Q was so confused he didn’t really try.

When they pulled away, Q had blushed practically all the way to his toenails. “I’ll be more careful,” he managed.

Bond raised an eyebrow, and tugged him forward again. “Don’t you dare,” he said in a low growl, and kissed Q with a ferocity that took his breath away.


	757. Chapter 757

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ADORE YOU FICS! When you have time, could you do a fic where James has never been taken care of his whole life, and now that Q seems to care so much for him,he doesnt know how to react. – anon

Q loved him so much it was truly, honestly frightening, in a sense that was regrettably literal: Bond had no idea what to do with himself. Q was so  _open_ , in a way that seemed to contradict-but-not-quite all of his personality.

Ultimately, Q never pretended to be anything he was not. Whether that was contemptuous or amused or entirely unperturbed, he was consistent: it made sense, then, that his love for Bond was as utterly constant as everything else he did in his life.

“You need to be looked after,” Q told him quietly, with awe-inspiring simplicity, as though it  _could be_ that simple. “Go home. There’s food in the freezer, you can put it in the oven for half an hour at 180 and it should be good to go.”

Bond’s brows contracted with distrustful confusion. “You made food?”

“I cook, yes,” Q smirked. “Not quite a student any more, although not for want of trying; I can’t spent the rest of my life on ready-meals. There’s a stew that didn’t have a recipe so I’m calling it ‘Q stew’ and you can’t stop me, and there’s a korma too.”

Q couldn’t help but smile at Bond’s expression: he looked utterly lost.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Bond griped.

His expression only got worse when Q opted to pull him into an impossibly tight hug.

The younger man refused to move. The older wasn’t quite sure what was happening.

“You stupid man,” Q sighed fondly, head curled into Bond’s shoulder.

Bond would have been insulted if he had thought it was an applicable response. It might have been. He stayed quiet instead, and after another moment or two, began to incrementally relax. So much so, in fact, that by the time Q began to pull back, Bond couldn’t stand the idea of  _not_  having his Quartermaster’s arms wrapped around him.

Q smirked, unseen, as Bond held him back.

The man was learning, bit by bit. Time would tell, but it seemed that Bond rather enjoyed being truly loved and cared for, to not need to be almost aggressively independent in the way he had been for so many years previously.

Instead, Q looked after him quite entirely.

“I make better curry than you,” Bond pointed out, abruptly.

Q pulled back, eyes wide. “Well  _you_  cook then,” he returned, tone martyred, Bond managing to avoid being categorically dressed down for being unkind before he answered, tone playful and careful and full of care Q always loved to hear on his lips:

“That’s the plan.”


	758. Chapter 758

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is extremely talented in hiding. Good thing because armed men storm MI6 and Q is the only one left to rally the troops and arrange for a counter assault, all while hiding somewhere really strange. – anon

“ _Please tune all communications devices to frequency 99.180, access code as per your individual device.”_

Bond was rather surprised. The text had registered in spite of the ostensible lack of communications in and out of MI6 HQ, which was something of a testimony to Q’s skills.

Honestly, Bond had also been about 85% certain Q was dead, which made the message extremely welcome indeed. He did as told, and tuned in the earpiece as he had been shown. His gun remained primed, Bond’s body riddled with understandable tension.

“Q?”

“ _Good afternoon, 007. Ladies and gentlemen, we now have fourteen known survivors. I have contacted for external assistance which should be rallying as we speak. This wavelength is secure, I believe. 007, as the strongest marksman, I am going to ask that you come and retrieve me from Q-branch._ ”

M’s voice was sharp and angular. “You are still in Q-branch?”

“ _I had no opportunity to escape. I hid, instead_.”

Bond felt a small prickle of disbelief. “Armed gunmen stormed Q-branch. I thought the whole area was razed?”

“ _Yes. I survived. I’m in the broken tech box._ ”

Another voice, somebody from Accounting if Bond recalled correctly: “Most of us are out, right?”

“ _Six of those on this wavelength are out, the rest are not. Bond, I am correct in assuming you’re in the building_?”

“Yes,” Bond replied simply. “I’m on my way.”

-

Q hadn’t been kidding.

He was hiding inside a box.

In fact, he was hiding in a box, and was a little bit skittish.

Bond hadn’t known a human being could fold that small outside of contortionist acts.

 _Especially_  not while carrying a machine gun.

“Health and safety for munitions?” Bond mocked with a smirk, as he coaxed his Quartermaster out of the very small box with a very large gun. “It looks like the branch are all dead. Assailants congregated on the first floor by the looks of things, but keep aware.”

“Counter assault should have begun,” Q told him, letting out a slow breath.

There was a flicker of noise.

Bond was already shooting. Curiously, Q was not, and Bond could only hope in a disconnected sort of way that the Quartermaster had not just died rather inauspiciously.

No.

Q had  _entirely fucking vanished_.

“Q?”

“Yes?”

Bond looked up.

Q was on top of a cabinet.

_Still holding a machine gun._

_“_ Unbelievable,” Bond muttered to himself, and extended a hand to help his bizarre and ridiculous Quartermaster down.


	759. Chapter 759

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. I absolutely love your work. I was wondering if you could please do a fic where Q has been with girls all of his life and realizes that he might be bisexual after meeting Bond. He then tries to come to terms with his bisexuality. Thank you very much! – anon

Q didn’t really know what to do with the influx of concept and actuality: he was incredibly attracted to James Bond (actuality) which would mean he was definitely not straight (actuality). A little bit awkward, after twenty odd years, and conceptually not something he knew what to do with.

Thus, when Bond invited him out to dinner, Q truly had no idea what to say.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked curiously, after Q had agreed without a heartbeat of hesitation, and then abruptly fallen very silent.

Q nodded. “I… I’ve never been with a man. In fact, I’ve never felt even passingly attracted to a man before. Romantically or sexually… I just, I have no idea what my head’s doing.”

“I’m honoured,” Bond said smoothly, voice caramel. “Introducing you to the joys of both…”

“Yes, but I don’t know what to do with myself!” Q returned, with tangible aggravation. “I know it doesn’t  _matter_  per se, before you start on that, it’s about  _me_. It’s about knowing who and what I am, what I want, why I want it… it’s just hard. It’s always just been unquestioned and just simple, simple and easy, and now it’s  _not_.”

Bond watched him carefully, Q’s body edging with tension. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“ _I know it’s not a bad thing!_ ”

“Calm.”

Q looked like he wanted nothing more than to punch Bond hard around the face. “Don’t you  _dare_  try and tell me to calm down, or tell me how I  _should_  react. You have absolutely no right. Was it easy for you?”

Bond shrugged. “It never occurred,” he said quietly. “I never thought otherwise.”

“Private school?” Q asked, with acerbic cruelty; Bond’s jaw tightened. “Sorry. Unnecessary.”

“Just a little,” Bond returned drily. “Q, it’s your choice.”

Q rolled his eyes skyward. “You are just not getting this,” he said wearily. “Look. I need time.”

Bond nodded slowly. It was never usually good when somebody asked for ‘time’. “What can I do?”

“Just… wait,” Q asked, feeling deeply guilty at Bond’s expression. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more, but I can’t. I need time to adjust.”

“Okay,” Bond nodded, and reached out briefly. “Okay.”


	761. Chapter 761

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I have a thing involving Bond,Q and Wikileaks – anon

“I need your help escaping the country.”

It wasn’t a very promising sentiment. Bond couldn’t help but look rather wary. “What happened?” he asked wearily.

Q watched him, expression purely apologetic over the top of his thick-rimmed glasses, hair everywhere. He looked very young, something Bond recognised as contrived; his wariness clocked up several notches.

“I… well,” Q managed, and suddenly spun at the imagined sound of something behind them. Skittish, then.

Bond dreaded to think what his Quartermaster had done.

“If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”

Of course, Bond’s eyebrows went ceilingwards. “You think? Unless you’ve blown up half of Parliament…”

“State secrets on Wikileaks?”

Bond went slightly pale. “You didn’t,” he asked, with just a shadow of desperation.

Q didn’t reply, which was more than enough of an answer. He smiled weakly, instead. “Please help me flee the country?” he asked again, a little more tentatively.

“I can’t.”

Q’s eyes widened slightly. “They’ll kill me. I will be sucked into the deepest darkest recesses of the world had left there forever,  to rot, and probably have tea with Julian Assange while he grins at me and oh god, oh god, I can’t deal with yet more dodgy dye jobs, Silva nearly drove me completely mad…”

Bond just watched Q ramble for a bit. It made for fairly good viewing, and allowed him time to consider.

Eventually, he held up a hand, stopping Q midway through an impassioned sentence on how much he hated prisons. “I’ll help you.”

Q smiled beautifully. “Thank you,” he replied brightly, disconcertingly brightly for somebody who had betrayed their country and was going on the run. “So where are we heading?”

Bond blinked in disbelief. “I only just agreed to do this. I have no idea yet. We’ll have to take a plan.”

Q shook his head.

“What?” Bond asked.

“I don’t fly.”

The man had to be taking the piss. “You’re seriously going to quibble this?” Bond asked drily. “You’re on the run, you can’t afford to be picky.”

“Try me,” Q replied stubbornly.

This was going to be an interesting venture.


	762. Chapter 762

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write Q and Bond on a mission, running into Q’s ex ? They’re not together yet, but Bond can’t stop feeling jealous ? – anon

“Jack?” Q asked, incredulous.

Bond didn’t have time to work out what was happening before somebody dive-bombed his Quartermaster in a hug; common sense kicked in a heartbeat before his instincts ripped the assailant away from his Quartermaster.

Common sense meant recognising that Q was hugging the assailant back, laughing with disbelief, looking him up and down with pure delight. “How are you?” the newcomer – presumably Jack – was asking, grinning, glancing at Bond with an unashamed question.

“Not quite,” Q grinned. “And you?”

“Two years in January,” Jack nodded, looking  _sickeningly_  happy, and Bond’s heart leapt at the understanding that the man was  _not_  single. “How’s your work?”  
Q shrugged. “I could tell you…”

“… but you’d have to kill me,” Jack completed, before glancing to Bond again. “Sorry, erm, I’m Jack.”

“We used to date,” Q filled in, and there was something about the easy and familiar way they completed one another sentences that made Bond feel outright homicidal towards the man.

No. Not reasonable. This ‘Jack’ was no longer involved with Q.

In any case, Bond abruptly thought,  _why did it matter_?

The pair were babbling, completely oblivious to Bond’s unfurling sexuality crisis.

“Q, we have places to be,” he managed eventually, his throat closed, voice a little strangled; Q glanced at him with quite confusion, before apparently remembering that  _they were on a goddamn mission_ and he probably shouldn’t have been getting quite so distracted.

“What’s your number these days?” Jack was asking; Bond’s blood boiled a little bit as Q rattled out a string of numbers without any hesitation.

Finally, the man left. Bond let out a breath.

This was probably not good.

Q was watching him oddly. “Are you alright?” he asked after a moment.

Bond took a moment to consider. The honest answer was ‘ _no, I think I want to take you on a date and have a lot of sex and that’s definitely not what a serial womaniser is supposed to think_ ’ and so he settled for: “Are you thinking of getting back together with him?”

“Did you not hear?” Q asked teasingly. “He’s with somebody. Why are you asking?”

There were no good answers. Bond shrugged. He got the impression Q didn’t quite buy it.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Q sighed dramatically. “You’re bloody useless at this,” he noted, shaking his head. “Dinner. I’ll pick you up, I know somewhere you’ll like.”

“I’m…”

“It’s just dinner,” Q pointed out. “Let’s deal with the rest at another stage, yes?”

Bond was too surprised to do anything other than nod.


	763. Chapter 763

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the concert video for “Téir Abhaile Riú” by Celtic Woman along with Ben Whishaw singing. Q is caught singing the opening dueling sopranos sequence against one of the minions. Fluffy and fun please but otherwise have fun! (and loving the tales so far) – anon

He was down the octave, but it was still a spectacular example of vocal mastery. Bond had no idea Q was such a spectacularly adept singer.

For all his skills, it couldn’t be denied that the minion he was up against was  _sublime_. Her voice made Bond’s shiver with honest delight; she and Q together had a perfect contrast, the warmth of a tenor against the slicing perfection of a skilled soprano, and Bond just forgot why he was in Q-branch to watch them.

Q was having the time of his life.

True, he would probably regret not warming up first, and getting quite so overexcited. True, the song was in  _no way_  designed for a male voice. True, he was being out-sung. He was also having the absolute time of his life.

Q-branch were mostly ignoring them, which Bond found arguably the funniest part of the entire affair. “Not the first time,” R told Bond quietly, as Q’s voice went higher than any man’s voice had a right to go. “Heloise decimates most people in branch singing-wise, it’s fairly impressive…”

At the other end of the room, Q was doing some splendid vocal trills. “Soprano battle,” another minion piped up.

“I gathered that much,” Bond stated drily, shaking his head with simple disbelief.

Q was insane. Categorically insane. Beautiful and brilliant and  _sodding insane_.

“Should we stop them?” Bond asked uncertainly.

R just snorted. “I dare you to try. They don’t tend to give up until there’s an emergency or their voices give out.”

Bond blinked. “Are you serious?”

The answering glare wasn’t too surprising; R never joked about work, about everybody’s devotion to work. Q not working was a very serious matter.

Then again, it seemed that the singing was also a very serious matter indeed.

Alarms started blaring. “Oh thank god,” R sighed, and strode towards the front of the room. “Q?”

“Yep,” Q returned brightly, looking utterly invigorated, expression turning serious and concentrated but still flushed with exhilaration. “Breach?”

R was pulling her hair back into a ponytail, glancing over scrolling monitors. “An attempt,” she replied. “We’re being flagged by the CIA again.”

Q rolled his eyes. “How disappointing,” he sighed. “Get them gone, and I’ll call in a moment. Heloise, I win this round.”  
Heloise replied with a complex coloratura solo.

Q just blinked. “I don’t have the time to beat you right now,” he said primly. He gave Bond a brief wave, and disappeared into his office, Heloise grinning smugly after him.


	764. Chapter 764

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has Agoraphobia and hasn’t left his flat for five years. Bond moves in to the building across from him and sees the younger man through the window. – anon

The boy was young, beautiful, and must have been painfully alone.

Bond wasn’t sure quite what it was that had made him come to that conclusion. Perhaps the fact that he  _never_  left; day or night, Bond could see the shadows, the suggestions of a human being.

(Not to mention that MI6 screened everything and everybody in the vicinity. Bond understood that he had severe agoraphobia, and refused to leave. Shopping was delivered to his door, what few friends he had visited once in a while. Mostly he remained on his own with his computers – of which he reportedly had several – and kept to himself).

Bond wasn’t quite sure what compelled him to cross the road, to work out the flat number, tap on the door.

The boy opened it, glanced Bond up and down, glanced the corridor up and down. “Yes?” he asked.

“I live across the street,” Bond explained, as charmingly as he was able. “I thought I’d come and say hello, introduce myself. Bond. James Bond.”

The boy blinked. “Q,” he replied simply, and Bond could see the tension in his body creeping higher, eyes darting quicker. Only incrementally, but good god, Q truly was horrendously agoraphobic. “Come in. Tea?”

Bond did as bidden, wondering quite how Q was so trustworthy. “Coffee.”

“Of course,” Q said, with a quiet smile, far more at home now he was in his space; Bond glanced around, taking it all. “Take a seat.

Q disappeared into presumably the kitchen. Bond opted to look around, rather than sit as directed; the boy’s flat was fascinating, a collection of not-junk that could have passed for such, technology and wires spilling in perfect concentric circles, organised chaos. “You work with computers, then?” Bond called.

Q poked his head around the door. “Yep. Milk or sugar?”

“Neither,” Bond replied with a smile, and Q’s head retracted once again; he heard a muffled call of _biscuits?_  to which he replied with a wholehearted yes.

The young man appeared a few minutes later, mugs in hand, and a packet of biscuits, demonstrating an impressive degree of coordination in managing to drop none of the above. “Alright,” he continued. “So. Bond, James Bond. Tell me about yourself. What  _actually_  brought you over the road? I somehow reckon you haven’t knocked on everybody’s door just to say hello.”

Bond debated which lie to go for, and landed on: “I was laid up in bed for a few days, didn’t look like you left at all – I had a friend who was the same, very bad agoraphobia,” he explained, with a touch of apology in his tone.

Q raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Yes. Agoraphobia,” he confirmed after a moment. “Haven’t left the building in five years.”

“ _Five_?” Bond repeated, with pure shock.

The younger man looked at him longer, sighed. “Look. You’re really quite a shitty liar. Feigned shock notwithstanding, you know full well I’m an agoraphobic, and I know full well that everybody in the building opposite works for the secret service. I’m not going to ask questions, pry, or do anything else. You all have reports on everything in a five-mile radius, me included, so please – don’t patronise me? You seem decent, it’s annoying to watch you lie.”

Bond could honestly say he hadn’t been so profoundly shocked for a very long while.


	765. Chapter 765

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My dears, you give me so much with your work. Was just happy to read other people’ s prompts, but have been trying to get over this heartache for a year. It’s unhealthy to harbour hope, I know, but could you please write something where James and Q meet, have sex and it’s just sex for one of them. The other pines away as they have to see each other regularly (let’s say weekly) but a year later something happens and they realise they were made for each other? Thank you is not enough. Love *B* - anon

It had never occurred to Bond that  _he_  was the one who would misread a sexual situation to mean more than it did. Bond prided himself on reading other people, their motives and their desires, and to have failed quite so spectacularly when it mattered  _so much_  seemed almost painfully ironic.

Very simply, the problem was Q. Q, who was intelligent and dour and sarcastic and electric and gorgeous. Q, whom Bond had made the mistake of assuming would never be the type for a one-night stand. Q, who – it transpired – had absolutely no interest in a further relationship in spite of the extraordinary night they’d spent in bed.

Bond remained quiet, and mourned.

Sex didn’t quite have the same appeal.  _People_  didn’t. Those he would usually take pleasure and joy in seducing were not quite right, and the motions were the motions but there was nothing behind them, not the usual spark of desire that would send it toppling into bed with somebody pretty.

His mind threw up images of dark hair and green eyes, a spark of something exciting.

“Double-oh seven,  _move_.”  
Bond did as bidden.

There was a crack of a gunshot, and Bond had enough time to register surprise – no pain interestingly, that would come later – as a bullet punched into his leg, knocking him off his feet.

Q’s voice was all but hysterical in his ear: “Bond. Bond, what’s happened?”

Bond was busy trying to establish where the shooter was; he rattled off two shots of his own, and the man in question crumpled. “Any more, Q?” he asked, voice a little raspy. “I’m going to need a med evac.”

“ _What happened?!_ ” Q screeched.

“Ow,” Bond returned sarcastically, just before genuine pain started to register, the kind of blind that blinded and throbbed out, blood spilling, hot and wet and lethal. “Shot, Q. I’ve been shot.”

Q could swear spectacularly when he wanted to. Bond listened with detached amusement, managing to get his jacket off, bundle it, press it onto the wound with a strangled grunt of pain. “Med evac on the way. James, you’re not allowed to die. You’re not.”

Bond chuckled, low and tired. There was a lot of blood. “And why would that be, Quartermaster?”

The man was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Q replied softly. “For everything. I was… when you got back. Dinner. Dating. That sort of thing.”

Bond couldn’t help a bubbling, slightly strangled laugh. His leg had stopped hurting, which was fairly nice, but his head was spinning a little. “Excellent,” he replied warmly, eyes closing, all his remaining energy compressing the wound. “Good. Yes. When I get back.”

“When you get back,” Q confirmed, as the door splintered in to admit the awaited med evac.

-

Bond opened his eyes.

Q was watching him, with a small smile. “You’re not dead,” he commented lightly.

“Apparently,” Bond replied, and breathed out a sigh as Q leaned in to kiss him.


	766. Chapter 766

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re awesome!! prompt: One of the double ohs is Q’s older sibling and Bond (who doesn’t know) gets jealous/protective when he sees them interacting. thank youuu – anon

Bond couldn’t really help himself, and didn’t want to; Q could be fairly flirtatious when he wanted to be, and watching him with 001 was just about confirming everything in Bond’s strangled thoughts.

(There was a small part of him aware he was being ridiculous. Bond mostly ignored that voice).

Q was with him. Bond knew that. He  _knew that_. But 001 was beautiful and dark and brought all her weaponry back on time, which made her likely to be one of Q’s perpetual favourites.

“Q?”

The man turned, took one look at Bond’s expression, and rolled his eyes. “Really?” he asked tiredly. “You have to be the most insecure man in the world, which – for the record – I think is fairly ironic for a womaniser of your calibre.”

Bond’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“001 is my sister.”

Bond looked at her. Blinked. “You’re what?”

001 grinned, all teeth. “Q’s my baby brother,” she repeated, looking over him, and now she’d said it the similarities were startling; the same slant of eyes, dark hair, and Bond knew she wore contact lenses. “Did you think we were flirting?”

There was no deft way of saying that, yes, Bond had been extremely concerned that his partner was flirting with (apparently) his sister. It stood to be an awkward thing to try and deftly express.

Instead, he settled for making a rather inelegant strangled sound, and ignoring the way 001 started to grin. It was very bad form to attack one’s partner’s sibling.

Or so Bond insistently reminded him. Not to mention that 001 was probably the only double-oh that Bond considered a fair fight (or if he was being honest, probably better than him at unarmed combat). Fighting her would be a Bad Plan.

Still, if she didn’t stop  _grinning_ , Bond would make an exception.

“James, you really have to calm the jealous streak,” Q smirked, exchanging a quick glance with his sister. “Promise. Even if she  _wasn’t_  my sister, I’m definitely gay as a maypole, and so is she. Alright?”

Bond nodded slowly, and abruptly glanced to 001. “You’re…?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you…”

“I’m dating R,” she interjected easily. “She handled me on a deep-cover mission, we’re now together.”

“Nothing like keeping it in the family,” Bond said drily, before he could censor himself.

001 pounced. “ _Not in my branch_ ,” Q yelled at them both, before rolling his eyes, and essentially giving up. No power on the earth was likely to stop them.

It took 001 twelve minutes to have Bond pinned.


	767. Chapter 767

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you guys are fantastiiiic. Any chance you could manage a 00Q Roman AU with gladiator!Bond? – anon

He was the latest pick of this year’s fights. James Bond - a professional gladiator, and something of a legend. Rumour had it he had entered the games after his wife took her own life; doubtless seeking a way to join her in death.

Death was less than obliging, to him at least.

Q watched in fascination from his seat as the man made short work of his competition. He was a scholar - his father a politician, far cry from the muscle bound men they watched, but he  _loved_  to watch. It wasn’t the blood per se, but the simple might of it; people was spheres away from, inches from their demise and revelling in their potential ends.

Bond was a beautiful fighter, for precisely that reason: he fought with everything in him, and he destroyed and was destroyed in equal measure. Q could not imagine a circumstance in which he was condemned to die; he was too popular now, far too professional and far too known. Q watched something he would never touch with reverence.

Until, that was, he was given the opportunity to  _meet_  Bond.

When they met, Bond was being scraped; they collected his sweat, the essence of his body, to bottle and sell. Q was somewhat sceptical of it as a practise, but it sold for unholy amounts, and it was at the behest of Bond’s owners.

“Hello.”

Bond looked at him, and Q couldn’t breathe for a moment at the intensity of the blue that looked back at him. Bond nodded a return greeting. “You are…?”

“Q,” Q replied, with a laudable degree of control. “A pleasure to meet you, Bond.”

“Call me James,” the gladiator purred, shrugging off his attendants. “And the pleasure is entirely mine.”

The undercurrents were more than readable. Frankly, Q didn’t mind much. Bond was precisely the kind of man Q enjoyed indulging in; strong, muscular, lethal. Q liked being in bed with somebody he knew could destroy him, and most liked being in bed with  _him_  as he looked young and was extremely talented with his hands.

It was entirely worth it, in the end. Bond fucked him with an easy violence that made Q’s toes curl with want, his body racking with energy as he came in harsh spurts, screaming out with Bond still inside him and the taste of blood and sweat on his tongue.

Perhaps they were right to sell it, Q mused with a delirious giggle, as he lay in the arms of a gladiator. There was something, some tang, that spoke of the force and the care and the ease and the passion; Q could feel it thrumming in his veins, his heart slowing back to the lazy beat of one cared for and protected.

“I have a battle in two days’ time.”

Of course, it couldn’t last.


	768. Chapter 768

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First of all, I LOVE your stories! They make my day! I was wondering if you could do a prompt of 00Q? Like it’s the first time Q and Bond are gonna do the frick frack but Q’s self conscious about like burn scars he got from the MI6 explosion? With lots of fluff (and possibly smut tee hee) Thank you! – anon

Q was always incredibly reticent about Bond touching him; he was palpably more tense when Bond started to move his hands over his shoulderblades, his thighs. Bond had never questioned. Men and women alike have little things, quiet insecurities that cause the body and brain to seize without logic intervening.

It made no difference to Bond; the idea was Q was happy.

They fell into bed rather naturally, a couple of glasses of wine down, a nice dinner and the evening mostly spent talking and sharing space with an ease they both had become welcomingly accustomed to.

Q grinned as Bond shrugged his shirt off, revealing the expanse of muscle, of honed everything. Bond was truly exceptional to look at, it was undeniable. “Like what you see?” Bond asked, voice effortlessly sensual.

“I should hope so, yes,” Q replied with a light laugh. “Now, keep going?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “One for one.”

Very slightly – enough that Bond could just about see, something Q tried to hide – Q’s expression became sadder, deflated slightly.

Naturally, Bond couldn’t help but feel immediately concerned. “Q? Are you alright?”

He wasn’t. Bond could tell he wasn’t. Q tried to nod all the same.

Bond shifted back a little, giving Q space, trying to quickly read whatever it was he was missing. “What’s wrong?” he asked carefully, modulating the worry as best he could. “Q, I…”

“I knew this would happen eventually, but I  _really_  didn’t…” Q managed, and cut himself off. Bond’s alarm was mounting by the moment, not allowing it to show; instead, he remained almost dangerously neutral. “James. I have a history.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Don’t we all.”

Q let out a slightly slower breath. “I… I doubt you’d even care much, really, I mean you’ve got scars of your own…”

“Literal or metaphorical?”

“Don’t be facetious,” Q snapped, with a little more of the fire Bond had come to expect from him. “Your shoulder, for example. Do you – did you – ever think it would mar you past the point of being aesthetically attractive? Not even necessarily for what your partners thought, but for  _you_.”

Bond shrugged. “It never occurred,” he replied honestly. “You have scars, don’t you?”

“The MI6 building blew up,” Q returned, utterly expressionless. “I had burns across my back and legs. They did what they could, but it’s not especially attractive.”

A moment. A nod of understanding. “May I see?” Bond asked. “If not, it doesn’t matter; I hope it won’t stop you wanting to have sex with me, either way?”

“I’m scared it’ll stop  _you_  wanting sex with  _me_ ,” Q pointed out, with the slightest blush. Honestly, the man was ridiculously endearing. “Don’t look at me like that…”

“Like what?” Bond returned, with genuine alarm. “Q,  _of course_  I’ll still want sex with you. You’re… you’re beautiful, yes, but that’s not actually the only reason for wanting this.”

Q raised an eyebrow in obvious disbelief. Bond restrained the urge to be angry at it. “Just trust me?” he asked tiredly.

Hesitantly, Q nodded, and started to unbutton his shirt.


	769. Chapter 769

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there ! I’m in a mood for something dark and angsty~ What about Q and Bond prisoners, and Q being beaten and/or raped with Bond being forced by their sadistic captors to watch? And they’re like, purposely not hurting James ‘cause they know he’d prefer that and that what they’re doing is so much worse… Please? And btw, you’re are brilliant! I read all of your 00q works on Ao3 and loved each and every one of them. Thank you so much for sharing! <3 – anon

Q gave Bond the smallest, most incremental of nods.

They didn’t know who he was. It was more dangerous, for both of them, if they worked out who Q was; and so, Q was rendered Bond’s bed-warmer, and they elected to torture him rather than the trained agent.

It was the only option, Q told himself, Bond told himself, as Q was stripped and tried very hard to remain vaguely stoic; he wouldn’t last a moment if they were asking  _him_  questions, all Q had to do was not lose his mind completely and trust that Bond was handling the not-answering-questions aspect of all this.

“Such a  _pretty_  little thing, isn’t he?” the leader murmured, stalking around Q’s body, fingers tracing the soft skin of his cheek. “I can see why you like him.”

“Oddly, it isn’t just the aesthetic,” Q returned drily, an easy parry; Q had never quite got the hang of when to shut up.

Without hesitation, three of Q’s fingers were slammed upwards. Q screamed, mostly shock, before falling very silent and very still, skin growing paler.

A hand snaked down his side, possessive, sliding towards his groin; immediate panic, Q understanding and flinching back violently, eyes finding Bond’s in a moment of un-tempered horror.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Bond’s voice was livid, harsh. “You want information from me, not him – there is nothing to be gained from hurting him. Leave him.”

Q folded as a punch caught him in the solar plexus, wheezing as they wrenched him back upright, throat mottled in fingerprints of red and Q himself trying desperately to breathe. “You want him safe,” their leader told him, a rather unavoidable fact given that Bond had practically snarled aloud at Q being hit. “Tell us what we need, and he will not be harmed.”

Bond stayed silent. Q looked truly, honestly  _terrified_.

“All yours,” the man told his companions dispassionately, waving an errant hand in Q’s direction.

The masses descended almost instantly, and Q was silent for less than ten minutes. The screaming came first, fighting and yelling and thrashing quite admirably. Pleas next, quieter things, punctuated by rawer cries; these faded out quickly, nothing left but sobs and caught sounds that couldn’t escape properly.

Q lay discarded when they were done, the final man using him pulling out before kicking him in the stomach; Q barely moved, breathing unsteadily, eyes unfocused, letting out an exhausted cry as a man stepped on his broken fingers, ground them into the concrete.

Abrupt silence, as he passed out.

Bond had not said a word. In fact, Bond could well have been marble.

“This was your choice, Mr Bond. If you want him to live, you need only speak.”

Not a word, nothing. The man walked out, leaving Q to bleed out on the floor, inches from Bond but unreachable.


	770. Chapter 770

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your fics! I was wondering it you could do one where Q is really REALLY good at archery (idk maybe in a mission he saves Bond’s butt or something) and Bond is like WOW. If they are in a relationship or not is up to you. Thank you! –anon

Of all the bloody things. All the bloody, sodding, stupid,  _ridiculous things_.

Bond watched as Q set up another arrow. The man had custom built himself a bow, quiver and quick-loading device. The most impressive thing, however, was his skill with it. People were dropping like flies in a wonderfully confused manner - bullet-proof, not reinforced arrow-proof apparently.

They had only been set up to meet, and things went downhill swiftly in a way only Bond’s missions ever seemed to. Bond was busy trying to grab out his gun, cursing as he remembered he’d fucked up the trigger, and almost didn’t see Q pull out a slim case.

 This case flicked open and, in seconds, his Quartermaster had taken out their first assailant.

“What the  _hell_  is that?”

“A bow,” Q had replied shortly, and fired another.

Bond growled. “I gathered that. Why a  _bow_?”

“I prefer working with bow and arrow to munitions.”

“Again,  _why_?”

Q rolled his eyes, flicking the bow itself to a more portable size, everybody present either dead or dazed. Certainly no longer a threat, in any case. “I don’t think you’re in much of a position to criticise my weaponry choices,” he told Bond primly. “I give you the things you need, and you can shut up and allow me my own. I find them useful, effective, portable, and altogether delightful. Problem?”

Bond blinked. “Not as such.”

A single, curt nod. “Then kindly shut up.”

A single gunshot rang out.

Bond went for his gun again, and – of course – swore again, precisely as he had before.

Q had bow out and arrow flying in a heartbeat, and hell but he had never looked so beautiful. “You do realise you’re hopelessly attractive like that?”

“Are you flirting, Mr Bond?” Q smirked, once again flicking the bow back to half-size. “Because you are my subordinate, regardless of charm.”

Bond outright grinned. “You  _love_  the charm,” he pointed out. “You need to be charmed, Quartermaster. With aim like that, I’m surprised more haven’t tried to get you into bed…”

Q raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I don’t have many after me?”

Bond dipped his head apologetically. “I’m clearly not around you enough. Should I be jealous.”

“Yep. Now. Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Bond agreed, all teeth, a little bit frightening but somehow painfully attractive all the same. “Eight? I’ll pick you up.”

“No. I will. I have a better car,” Q informed him, and slung his backpack onto his shoulder. “This mission is officially an abortion, so get yourself back to HQ and debrief. I’m blaming you for this. I have write-ups now. So when I’m done, I’ll come and take you to dinner.”

Bond saluted, and Q just laughed.


	771. Chapter 771

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I have this headcanon that I was hoping you could write for me because you’re awesome :-) The agents at MI6 can’t really trust M, not for any bad reasons, just because they know he has to look at the big picture (and one day he might have to order them shot to get the job done). So instead they just completely trust Q, who is just always always on their side. Mallory and Q totally know it, and have agreed that’s how they’ll play it cause the agents need someone to trust. Thanks! – anon

M never mentioned it, and Q would never really know exactly what he felt on the subject; they kept the arrangement as it was, for everybody’s good, and nobody took undue offence.

In short: agents would talk, and Q would listen. He was, in a way, the double-oh’s shrink; someone they could actually trust with their problems, someone they knew that had their best interests in mind. So, when a difficult mission came up, it was Q’s voice on the headset and everyone felt safer.

“It’s not that I dislike him,” 001 was explaining, feet up on Q’s desk; he batted them off, and she shot him a filthy look and pouted a bit. “Anyway – it’s just, I’ve heard him order agent deaths…”

Q nodded. “I get it,” he agreed. “It’s not my call, ever, but it is his. Not to mention I’m gorgeous and you like talking to me.”

001 nearly threw a pen at his head, but stopped at the genuine terror in Q’s eyes as she went for it. “You’re a liability.”

“Says the woman about to throw a miniature bomb at my head,” Q shot back, confiscating the pen and slipping it out of the way.

Tanner tapped on the door, stuck his head around. “Bond’s asking for you, apparently some conflicting mission briefs. Just deal with him,” he asked wearily, and retreated again.

Q rolled his eyes, cracked his spine out, and strode out with a brief conspiratorial eye roll to 001. Q absolutely adored 001. Possibly his favourite agent, barring the man he was dating (obviously).

“Yes, Bond?”

“ _M is an arse_.”

“Not helpful. What’s happening?”

“Apparently, the brief is changing so it is no longer a simple enough dispatch now we know he’s a mole, but I have to be diplomatic.”

Q raised an eyebrow, trying not to snort. “Well yes, we know how well that usually goes,” he said drily. “Bear with me, try not to get shot in the interim.”

001 watched with amusement as Q muted the comms, and hummed to himself. “Aren’t you going to contact M?”

“I am,” Q returned, with a rather mad grin, all teeth. “M says this is the mission. It’s the mission. I trust M, even if you lot can’t – and I’ve been watching this mission too, I know enough to be absolutely bloody certain this is the right course of action. Trust me.”

“We all do,” 001 told him.

Q smiled, not mad this time – a soft thing, a gentle and grateful thing. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and unmuted Bond. “Hello. Yes, I’m afraid diplomacy is the only option…”

001 watched him for a moment, inexpressibly fond of the ridiculous young man to whom all agents owed everything.


	772. Chapter 772

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve read a lot of fics whith royalty in 00Q, but they were all UA. I wondered if you could write one with Q used to being a secret because he’s a bastard of royal extraction ? Could be english royal family, or even another one, they’re still a few after all and Bond face if Q was only recently english… – anon

“You won’t believe me,” Q managed, having another slug of his drink.

 Bond smirked, watching his inebriated partner. “Oh?”

“Naaaaah, not saying,” Q shook his head violently. “Nope.”

Bond chuckled. “Is it a  _secret_?” he teased.

Q nodded slowly, measuredly. “Big secret,” he agreed, and took another sip. “This stuff’s  _yummy_.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Bond said, poking Q and making the man yelp and giggle in equal measure. “Come on. Out with it.”

 _“Well_ ,” Q said, finishing his drink and looking mildly petulant at the empty glass. “You still won’t believe me, and you’re  _not allowed to tell_.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Q looked like an earnest and very grumpy kitten. Bond suppressed the urge to laugh. “Yes, Q. I promise.”

“ _Well_ ,” Q said for the second time, trying for another sip and looking actively distressed; Bond pushed over his own martini, met with Q lighting up like a Christmas tree and taking a very small sip before making a face. Bond was struggling very hard with laughing as Q straightened up, looking admirably like he might be on the sober side of tipsy, and indicated to the waiter for another drink. “So. Yes. Me. I’m the bastard child of Diana.”

Bond blinked. “Sorry?”

“Diana. The, erm, like Princess Diana. I’m her bastard son.”

There was a strange, uncomfortable silence. The waiter arrived with a cocktail. Bond decided to fuck the martinis and get a double whiskey on the rocks. The silence spread. Q shrugged apologetically.

“Told you. You don’t believe me.”

“I… it’s not that I don’t believe you…”

“But you don’t,” Q completed, rolling his eyes. “James, I’m not gonna lie ‘bout something like this, am I?”

Q would have been a whole lot more convincing if he wasn’t slurring his words quite so badly. Bond decided to forgive him. “So… you’re technically royalty?”

“I ‘spose not cos nobody knows who I am and it probably wasn’t Prince Charles but yes, I am, but I’m also not,” Q completed, with a happy smile. “So I got carted off to save the media ‘vestigation and now I’m here. S’all good, but yeah, royalty thing. Lots of money. Trust funds sort of thing.”

Bond nodded slowly. “Well,” he managed, impossibly grateful for the whiskey that appeared a moment later. “That’s… new. So I’m dating royalty?”

Q giggled madly, and nodded. “My life is  _weird_ ,” he said proudly, and took another sip of his drink. “So yes. There y’go. Secret.  _Big_  secret. Biggest secret  _ever_. Now. I’m drunk and you’re gorgeous so can we go home after these drinks?”

There was no denying him, and Bond frankly didn’t want to.

Instead, he resolved to talk about more in the morning, and took his delightfully drunk and  _very_ handsy partner home.


	773. Chapter 773

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s been seriously injured because of his relationship with 007. He’s lying in his hospital bed, Bond sitting by his side, thinking that he can’t see Q like this anymore and of sacrificing their relationship for Q'safety. When he wakes up, Q can read Bond’s intentions and he’s definitely not letting this happen. “Don’t you leave me you selfish bastard” or something along these lines ! :D Basically Q knocks some sense back into him & J renew his vow to protect him, to be there for him ect. –Nawie

Q was deathly white, barring the blotched purple-yellow-red bruises that scattered his exposed skin, the mottling from the twin fingerprints in the hollow of his throat and spreading cancerously outwards, a short trip to the split lip, the scrape high on his prominent cheekbone.

Bond looked at Q, and saw a boy who deserved so much better than him. Q could only ever be harmed. It was absurd to continue their relationship under the circumstances.

And so, Bond waited patiently for Q to wake, and inform him of the changes that would have to be made in both of their lives.

“… oh for fuck’s sake, I knew you would.”

Bond blinked. He hadn’t noticed Q had woken up. “Sorry?”

“Sitting there, looking…” Q broke off, looking confused and rather annoyed at the non-existent state of his voice. “Ow. Okay. Well – as I was saying. You’re there looking  _miserable_  in that self-flagellating way you have, and I’m not bloody doing this again. I’m tired.”

Q understood. Bond let out a small breath of relief; this would be a lot simpler if Q was already of like mind. “I know,” he said, a little earnestly. “This is best for both of…”

“James. Every time I get hurt you do this,” Q whined. “You did this when I got a bloody  _papercut in Q-branch_. You’re not the reason for all problems and leaving is  _not_  going to help.”

Q broke off to cough a bit, and make melodramatic noises about the state of his throat. “Hurts,” he muttered, and stuck a tongue out at Bond as he smirked. “No. Fuck off. I’m cross with you now. Kiss me.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you bloody can, please let’s skip the you’re-clearly-going-to-be-the-death-of-me bit and go back to the cuddling stage? I really need a cuddle,” Q pouted.

This was not going to plan.

It never seemed to go to plan, where Q was concerned.

“Q, I’m breaking up with you.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know, now  _cuddle_.”

It had to be said: there was almost nothing on earth cuter than Q on large quantities of painkillers.

“Q…”

“So help me, I’ll electrocute you,” Q told him firmly, and raised an imperious arm, summoning Bond closer.

Bond was essentially putty. He went closer, scooped Q into his arms, and tried to work out how to retrieve the break-up from the somewhat ridiculous situation he was now in.


	774. Chapter 774

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (you don’t have to write this if it’s boring i’m just really thankful you guys fill prompts for this lovely ship) AU in which M is Q’s dad and Bond sees them one day leaving HQ together and totally takes it the wrong way and then tries to bite M’s head off for being a craddle robber and taking advantage of Q only for M (and Eve maybe?) to laugh in his face for like ten years. It can end with Q flirting and telling Bond he likes his men a little more dangerous a little less fatherly. – anon

There was something  _wrong_  about it. The way they orientated themselves around one another, with the familiar ease of those who had known one another far too long, and Bond found it frankly alarming.

“He’s half your age.”

M stared at Bond with laudable neutrality. “Excuse me?”

“Q.”

The staring did not cease. “Yes,” M said slowly. “What about him?”

“He is  _half your age_. How can you justify it?”

M’s expression finally moved. He looked confused. Bond wanted to punch him for it. “What, precisely, am I supposed to be justifying?” he asked drily.

“You two.”

The confusion seemed to heighten, if anything. Bond growled, low in his throat. “Double-oh seven, I think you must have some assumption about the nature of our relationship which I’m not following.”

“ _You are dating a man half your age_.”

The laugher came from outside M’s office, to Bond’s confusion. The door had been left ajar – Bond had few compunctions about who heard his (entirely reasonable) objections – and it seemed that Moneypenny found it  _hilarious_.

M was struggling not to laugh himself, forcing his expression into something near neutral again. “Bond…”

“I misread something, didn’t I?”

“Catastrophically,” M agreed, while Moneypenny near enough fell off her chair. “Q is my son.”

Bond blinked. M finally snorted slightly at Bond’s utterly flabbergasted expression. “Your…”

“My son,” M repeated, shaking a little with suppressed laughter.

“ _Oh god James, you’re an idiot_ ,” Moneypenny called from outside. “ _I’m telling Q…_ ”

M glanced to the door. “Is that a good idea?”

“ _Of course it is_.”

“All yours, Miss Moneypenny,” M agreed, and returned his attention to Bond. “I am certainly impressed at your concern for his wellbeing…”

Bond still couldn’t quite compute. “Well. Damn,” he managed, with as much poise as he could muster. “I do care for his wellbeing, yes. Since we seem to be on that subject.”

M was torn between laughter and an approximation of fatherly dictator. “Your intentions?”

“Not restricted to friendship,” Bond confessed. “Not the reason I came in here, though…”

Moneypenny audibly snorted again. Bond wondered if shooting her would be considered overly aggressive, and decided it probably would be, although justified.

“If you harm Q…”

“… you’ll send me to Ghana without weaponry,” Bond completed. “Received and understood. I’ll be off.”

“Do not harm Moneypenny, either.”

Bond let out a growl, and stalked out.


	775. Chapter 775

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a variation on the 00Q prompt where they have to sleep with each other for a mission. Q makes incredible sex sounds, and James can’t believe how turned on he is when his quartermaster is making the most sexy sounds with a deadpan face. All while hacking away on his laptop. – addictedtomoo

It was utterly unreal, the way Q merrily leant against the headboard with a laptop on his knees and two long wires trailing away from him, crying  _oh god James please_  with an absolutely impassive expression.

Bond stared. Q glanced up, sensing the heaviness of his gaze, and raised a curious eyebrow.

“How are you doing this?” Bond whispered, before a far louder  _oh fuck_  which should have permeated the door and been audible to those who were quite definitely listening to ensure they were busy, and  _not_ hacking their systems.

More fool them, really, given that Q  _was_  hacking their systems. Bond was just sat on the end of the bed with a gun in hand, keeping on guard in case they realised that it was not quite genuine.

Another sharp gasp from Q, a moan. “What?” he mouthed.

“The noises,” Bond mouthed back.  _Oh fuck Q, do that again!_

Q looked rather confused, looked Bond up and down pointedly with an expression that very clearly said “well you’re doing fine too, what’s the problem?” which Bond couldn’t quite work out how to deny without admitting that he was, well, quite spectacularly erect.

_You want more?_

Q rolled his eyes.  _Yes, please, fuck please…_

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Bond tsked under his breath, before louder:  _Beg me._

It was very gratifying – given that Q had looked completely unfazed previously – to suddenly have his eyes widening in aggrieved shock.  _Fuck you!_

_I can stop_

Q let out a loud and desperate moan, the type that made Bond almost double over as the ache in his groin became yet more pressing. His whimper was not entirely faked.  _No, no James, fuck, please please don’t stop_

 _Better_ , Bond growled, recovering, Q smirking very slightly as he worked it out.

He continued his gentle typing, almost inaudible, and glanced pointedly to Bond’s groin.

Bond nodded sharply.  _Good man_ , he told Q, and started to thump the mattress rhythmically, quick, intense. “I can’t help it.”

“I’m flattered,” Q breathed back, and winked. “Later.”

Bond’s eyes widened. “Really?”  _Fuck Q, fuck…_

 _Oh god James, yes_.

“Yes,” Q repeated, with a sincerity that made Bond’s head whirl.

Q glanced back to his screen, screaming out a fake orgasm with a grin, with Bond voicing over as steadily as he could manage, and triumphantly hit a few final keys.


	776. Chapter 776

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a god in love with a mortal. The only problem being, he can’t touch James because every living thing he touches become frozen gold. They’re both longing for each’s other warmth, or touches, especially when Q trips over something and Bond wants to catch him or when Q is feeling down and needs comfort. – anon

“… so you have a literal Midas touch?”

Q rolled his eyes. “For want of a better phrase,” he agreed drily. “Mock me, so help me…”

“So sex is off the cards?” Bond asked, sounding a dash disappointed. The look Q shot him was enough to stop him asking any further questions on the subject. “Alright then. Question.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re a god, yes?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Where is this going?”

“Just wondering why you can’t reverse a ridiculous power that you didn’t want,” Bond shrugged. “It’s just… well. It seems a pity that I will never be able to kiss you, hold you…”

“Something you will have to accustom yourself to,” Q returned primly, with the slightest of shadows in his expression, a flicker of inexpressible sadness. “It isn’t… ideal, no.”

Bond watched him for a moment. “You’ve never been able to touch, have you?” he asked softly, as Q fidgeted slightly, eyes downcast, closing briefly in a silent acknowledgement of what Bond knew to be true.

More than anything, Bond would have given the world to hold Q in that moment. Somehow.

“We must be able to find a way…”

Q looked up, eyes blazing slightly. “Do you not think I haven’t considered this?” he asked sharply. “It’s contact,  _any_  contact. I’m just sorry, because you weren’t supposed to ever be affected by this, it’s shit for you and frankly irresponsible of me to let this continue…”

“Touching doesn’t make or break a relationship,” Bond pointed out.

Q raised an eyebrow. “And that you tangibly want to hold me now, and I want it too, is something you will be able to cope with for protracted periods?” he asked sarcastically. “I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it difficult already, and this has barely begun.”

Bond nodded in acknowledgement. “It’s hard. We’ll get around it.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then we don’t,” Bond acceded. “But until that point, I don’t see a reason not to try. Do you?”

Q grimaced very slightly. He hated being proved wrong, something Bond knew perfectly well, which explained the rather careful emotional trickery Bond was managing. “Fine,” he grumbled.

“Sound a little more delighted.”

“Piss off, I’ve just agreed to have a relationship with a mortal I can never touch,” Q snapped. “I’m allowed to be a little hacked off about the situation.”

Bond smirked. “Yes. Now try reversing it. If there was ever a way to get paranoid about aging…”

Q lobbed a sock at him. Bond ducked, and snorted with laughter.

They’d find a way.


	777. Chapter 777

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’ve seen quite a bit of Bond defending Q’s honour in one way or another, but could I have one where the roles are reversed and Bond not minding at all? Thanks in advance! – anon

“How  _dare you?_ ”

Q did not get angry often. When he did, it was a little bit like trying to tackle a nuclear explosion in miniature; Q’s anger was unanticipated, universally destructive, and  _quick_.

Bond stood close by, mostly because he always had, and always would, be one of the few people on earth with the capability of surviving large-scale explosions with little more than a scrape.

The Hiroshima of the analogy was 005, who had never looked so frightened in all the time Bond had known him.

“Q…”

Q held up a hand in Bond’s face, effectively silencing him. “… and quite  _how_  you consider yourself in any fit position to cast judgement on other people’s relationships and love lifes…”

“Q, don’t do something you’ll regret,” Bond pointed out quietly.

Bond blinked with understandabl fear, as Q wheeled around to him. “Fuck off. Defending  _you_ , here, so don’t tell me what I will or will not regret.”

“I…”

005 shot Bond a look, an outright  _plea_. Bond shrugged.

Really, he should have thought far harder before speaking.

“… and I don’t feel I actually  _need_  to tell you about the state of  _my_  relationship…”

“But he  _does_  sleep with other people!”

There was echoing, awful silence.

The minions removed everything fragile from open surfaces. Some of them left the room.

005 began to realise that he may or may not have said something very stupid.

Bond tried not to smirk.

“First,” Q began, voice low and dangerous. “You know  _nothing_. It is not your business to play some form of saviour to the sake of my sensibilities; our relationship is our own, and contains its own nuance.”

005 gaped helplessly. “But…”

“ _As it happens_ ,” Q interrupted, ignoring him utterly, “I am asexual. Bond and I have an arrangement concerning the way in which we treat sexual exploits, as I am neither able nor willing to satisfy Bond in that manner. Secondly – while I appreciate that it is unconventional, continuing to labour the point when I was evidently unperturbed was unnecessary.”

“I’m sorry…

“Good,” Q continued, louder, if anything  _angrier_. “And finally – to insinuate that my partner is lacking, that he is a serial cheat and is ‘using’ me, to  _insult_  somebody I love on the grounds of misinformation and fucked-up perception is  _absolutely unacceptable_. Give me salient information, by all means, but leave the judgement to somebody who  _actually knows the man he is dating_.”

Bond smiled very slightly. Terrifying though he was, Q loved him. It was written in every word he spoke. “Q…”

Another held-up hand. “Not done.”

“Q, we need you,” R broached. 005 looked like he could have cried in sheer relief.

Q stared at him, teeth bared slightly. “I’m sorry,” 005 repeated, eyes wide and tear-glossed. “I’ll never…”

“Good,” Q interrupted, looking him over contemptuously. “Now get out of my branch, 005, and so help me – if you lose or damage a  _shred_  of your equipment in Xi’an, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

005 had never moved so fast in his life as he ran from the branch.


	778. Chapter 778

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I possibly get a fic where Q is in a relationship with all of the 00s? You’d be my new favorites, not that you aren’t already. – anon

Q loved all of them, in each different way.

001 was beautiful and elegant. Her smile was bright sunshine, her laugh a cascade; Q had fallen in love with her almost immediately, in a quiet and understated way that meant he adored sharing space with her.

002 was masculine and perfect for being so; he was all cheekbones and passive aggression, Q acting as a positive influence (somewhat bizarrely).

003 was a strange one. Antisocial, asexual, hated being touched or held; she and Q had a gentle relationship, one of minds and words and gesture. Their relationship almost worked best when 003 was out on a mission, when they could parry their words and dance to their own kinder tunes. They would never touch, and Q would never mind.

By comparison, it made 004 hilarious: he only cared much for sex. They had a relationship almost entirely formed on a mutual need for sexual adventure.

(006 and 007 found the toys, once. Neither looked at Q or 004 in the same light again).

005 died. Q did not recover, and will not for a while.

006 and 007 came as a package deal. They were the domestic ones – Q actually lived with them now, a quirk nobody else minded – and they just liked to live a bit, to have dinner and wine and charm Q senseless. Q liked being charmed. He liked being able to have them both; they complimented one another, incredibly close friends who had never quite become something more but had certainly found a shared delicacy. Q could not quite imagine one without the other. It would be like losing a limb.

008 was one the most experienced undercover agents, and was installed on longterm missions almost exclusively. Q didn’t see him for months at a time. They made up for the lost hours in the time they had.

Finally, 009. 009 was the only double-oh even faintly technologically minded. He and Q spent many hours geeking. 009 helped Q in-branch, could code, could make Q smile at any hour of the day or night.

It was an odd dynamic. Most external eyes found it odd.

Q found it… perfect. It was lonely, being Quartermaster, and meant that he fell in love with his agents in quiet ways all the time; he cared about them, it was his job and his life to care about them. It was impossible to care that much for somebody without accidently falling for them, at least a little.

They were happy.

That was all.


	779. Chapter 779

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea today and well, I just can’t write it with the writer’s block going around. Could you maybe do a 00Q where James likes Q but Q turns him down because he doesn’t think James would like him much if he knew Q was asexual. All the love and flowers I have to you both. – anon

“… because I cannot supply you with what you want,” Q continued irritably, wishing Bond would just leave the subject well enough alone. It wouldn’t go well. He  _knew_  it wouldn’t. He knew what Bond liked and how Bond spent his time and how he was with women and conquests and dating alike.

Q was not right for him.

“… but how can you know what I want?” Bond parried insistently, and Q just wanted to scream.

“Bond. I am asexual. I deeply dislike sex. It’s a repulsive exchange of body fluids and parts of anatomies entering other people, and it makes me uncomfortable and disgusted. I am therefore not going to be able to satisfy you. I acknowledged it would be difficult to find a partner early on in my life, and while I consider you aesthetically attractive and charming, I will never be able to give you that.”

Bond was quiet, waiting to see if the tirade had ended. “You do realise that sex is not the be-all?” he suggested lightly.

Q was just about ready to start shouting again, before Bond’s words actually impacted. “I… what?”

“I like sex…”

 _No shit_ , Q thought, a little bitterly.

“… but I can go without it quite happily. I like you. I’d like to spend more time with you. Interested?”

Q gaped.

Nobody had ever said anything even slightly similar to him in as long as he could remember. Those he had explained asexuality to had found it either bizarre, had pitied him, or had been put off almost instantly.

“… yes,” he managed, wary and a bit belatedly. To his credit, Bond was still standing and waiting.

At Q’s answer, he grinned widely. “Excellent. Dinner?”

“I like food.”

Q blushed. Not his most eloquent answer. “Good, always a good start,” Bond teased. “When?”

“I’ll check my diary, no idea offhand what I’m doing. I’ll text.”

“You don’t have my…”

Q’s expression stopped him short. Even if Q  _didn’t_  have his private number, it was not like he wouldn’t be able to acquire it. “Received and understood. Until then, Q.”

Bond sauntered away, perhaps entirely unaware of the effect he had on Q; Q managed a strange type of sigh, and near enough collapsed on the spot.


	780. Chapter 780

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi (again teehee) I was wondering if I could ask for a prompt? Could you do something inspired by the tv show Arrow, like Q was stranded on a island somewhere for 5 years where he’s been tortured and has gained lots of reflexes and body mass and crazy ninja skills, then he’s found and tries to adjust back to his life before hand and Bond kinda just realizes that this isn’t the same person who he was in a relationship with before? Sorry if that was really long winded. Many thanks. :) – thearchangelofloki

Q is a very, very different creature to the one Bond remembers.

This man is not Q. He calls himself Q, but then again, so does the current head of Q-branch in MI6, and that man is  _certainly_  not Q. It is a title more than a name, which Bond knows he should remember but somehow can never quite manage to: Q is his lover, Q is his partner, and Q loves him (loved him) once.

Years had passed and Bond had moved on. Bond had a relationship for a couple of years, before she’d cheated on him and run away to Southern France (Bond had not quite been able to abide true relationships with women since, kicked once too often) and a handful of smaller flirtations.

Q had lingered on the edges of his consciousness. Q was not easily forgotten.

Bond had been informed, at three in the morning (naturally), that Q had been found. Given that  _his_  Q was dead, Quartermaster-Q had never been lost, and he had been having nightmares for weeks, Bond had been very confused for several long minutes.

“… and he’s definitely alive.”

Bond was dangerously still, and yet, nowhere near as still as the man that had – apparently – once been Q.

“Why are you staring?” Q intoned, eyes dangerously sharp.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you in five years. It’s odd. I missed you.”

Q glanced him up and down. Nodded dispassionately.

The most extraordinary part was Q’s physique, the most obvious sign of his alteration. From the skinny sun-deprived boy, he had become a man, and a muscular one at that; he had bulked to twice his previous size in sheer muscle, and knew how to use it.

“I need to get out,” Q said quietly. “ _Do_  something. I haven’t been this inactive in a very long while.”

“You need…”

“I do  _not_  need rest, you need me to need rest,” he snapped. “I need to be active, before I get bored out of my skull and do something everybody will regret.”

Bond conceded defeat, and led Q outside. “You said you’ve been taught to fight?” he asked, as he held the door for Q; Q gave him a look of confusion and very mild repulsion, before accepting the gesture.

“Yes.”

Bond grinned, and tackled him.

The change was startling and utterly terrifying. Q’s eyes hardened, and he slammed out an arm, catching Bond mid-motion and bodily throwing him back. “Not your best idea,” Q hissed, and pounced forward.

Bond was in a headlock within a matter of seconds, and despite some of the best training in the world, he couldn’t get free for the life of him. “Point received and understood,” he said quietly.

Q let him go, Bond gasping for breath.

They watched one another, with the expression of two strangers.

“Round two?”

Q smiled, very faintly, and Bond had  _his_  Q back.

The man attacked.


	781. Chapter 781

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Could I please have a fill with either vampire!Bond and vampire-hunter!Q or werewolf!Bond and werewolf-hunter!Q, where Q is hunting down Bond? Thank you so much! – anon

Q closed his eyes, and breathed in.

Werewolves could be sensed, to an extent. A human recoil from something lethal, not to mention the faintest smell of blood and breath and heat; the sheer size, the motion of a creature out of control.

Honestly, Q had sympathy for the werewolves. A horrific quirk of biology and fate and rendered them inhuman, and now they were past redemption. This one had taken a good deal of tracking, but Q was the best, and the best he would stay.

Irony is a funny thing.

Q didn’t notice being kicked over. He certainly noticed the gun flying from his grip; his own design, silver bullets of course, reinforced to penetrate the thick skin of the creatures.

“ _Fuck_.”

He was going to die. He had hesitated, stopped, and was going to die for it.

The werewolf’s breath was hot and wet above his face. Q felt very nauseous. He simply prayed the bastard didn’t bite him and have done with it; Q couldn’t bear to be a werewolf himself, it was a fate worse than a comparatively quick death.

Instead, the werewolf was chuckling.

Q opened his eyes – honestly, he hadn’t noticed closing them – and blinked.

The werewolf was definitely laughing at him.

“Oh fuck off,” Q snapped at him. “Kill me, go on, you’re about to.”

Things got weird after that. Before his eyes, the werewolf stood upright, fur receding to leave naked skin, drawing out the image of a beautiful human body, a man, blond and powerful as his wolf form had been.

The man’s voice was calm and still irritatingly amused. “Your language is terrible,” he pointed out warmly, with the rough shag of a man who knew what it was to howl at the moon. “Stop swearing.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Q returned spitefully. “You have some  _serious_  explaining to do. You’re a werewolf.”

“Yes.”  
“It’s full moon.”

“I noticed.”

“ _How did you just shift?_ ”

The man blinked, and let out another surprised laugh. “We don’t  _have_  to stay shifted for every moment the moon’s out. You can see the moon in daylight sometimes, it would be very irritating to shift all the time…”

“But…”

“My name’s Bond, by the way. James Bond.”

“Q,” Q replied, wondering if he was finally losing his sanity. Or whether he had died, and this was a particularly bizarre afterlife. “You still haven’t answered.”

Bond nodded patiently. “We have to be shifted for a certain number of hours per lunar cycle, but if you time it well, it means you’re less likely to lose control and massacre entire towns while hungry,” he explained, with impossible calm, sodding  _impossible_  calm. “I knew you were here – I’ve been fully lupine for the last fortnight so I’d be able to have this conversation.”

Q let out a strange strangled sound, and collapsed back a little. “I’m talking to a werewolf.”

“Which is better than killing me, in my humble opinion.”

Q couldn’t find a single word.


	782. Chapter 782

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya. Can and have spent far too long reading your wonderful works. Was hoping you’d consider a fill for me. Q has developed severe tendonitis in his shoulder due to computer work etc. A painkilling injection goes wrong, (cocky medical officer) hits the the nerve instead of tendon, leaving Q in agony when local wears off. Bond finds him sobbing pitifully, even asking Bond to shoot him, before asking Bond to stay with him.Hev been through this lately in person, and need some vicarious 007 TLC xx – 00sal

Q was sobbing, a twisted ball behind his own desk, whimpering pathetically as Bond came closer. “Q?”

“A fucking damaged nerve,” he managed, trembling violently. “Fuck.”

Bond hadn’t the faintest idea what to do. Conventionally, he didn’t really deal with crying people. Crying anybody. Partner or not, he didn’t know what to do with tears, including tears of pain.

So, he settled for kneeling by Q’s side, hushing him uncertainly.

“Shoot me,” Q whimpered. “James, it’s a mercy kill, it hurts too much, I’m going mad, please.”

“No,” Bond replied simply, neutrally. “You need to breathe, and relax, it won’t help.”

“I fucking can’t.”

“You can,” Bond soothed, reaching out to Q, a gentle hand on his shoulder that Q flinched back from and let out a sharp and mournful cry as it jolted. “Q, I know you can.”

“I don’t want to.”

Bond’s brow creased; he knew that pain, so much it feels that nothing is worth it. Not even the knowledge of it, one day, ending. The brain shying away from logic in favour of just wanting an end, any end. “I know. You’re doing well.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Bond contradicted smoothly. “I know you can/ Strongest man I know. Do you want me to get Medical down here?”

“Fuck those wankers. You can kill Fraser for me if you want to be helpful.”

Bond let out a surprised laugh. Q, through his tears, managed a small smile.

“There you go,” Bond coaxed, at the smallest suggestion of a smile. “So – I’ll go murder, shall I? You’re in charge of paperwork.”

“Don’t leave.”

There was a heartbreaking urgency in Q’s tone, a frantic need to not be left, to be sheltered and protected.

“I won’t,” Bond replied, after a moment, a moment of pure shock: Q had never sounded so vulnerable. “I won’t go anywhere.”

“Good,” Q replied quietly, and the tension seeped out slightly, leaving him to just cry.

Bond waited, brushed hair from his eyes, held him when Q was able to move.

Q wept, and held onto Bond like a lifeline, knowing he would stay.


	783. Chapter 783

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I would love James and Q getting back to MI6 from a beach holiday and everyone expects Q to be burnt all over because of his pale skin and how he never seems to go outside but he’s really smug because he wore sun cream all the time and then James has loads of sunburn because he thought sun cream was for wimps and Q is all like “i told you so” but then gives in and slathers aloe gel all over him :) thank you!!!! – theres-always-anoffswitch

Q couldn’t stop laughing about it. It wasn’t the kindest of things, but Bond had been an arrogant tosser and Q found it absolutely  _hilarious_  that karma was alive and well and manifesting in the extremely painful sunburn Bond had across every inch of exposed skin.

“I regret it,” Bond told him, looking deeply uncomfortable as he tried to find some position he could lie in where he wasn’t in pain. “I’m sorry…”

“Eve’s  _face_.”

Eve had been hilarious. Bond had walked in looking like a freshly cooked lobster, while Q was maybe a half-tone darker than the shade he had left in. Eve had looked between the pair of them, and all but _cackled_.

“I hate her.”

“I know,” Q snorted. “Now – lesson learnt?”

Bond nodded, expression baleful. “Help?” he asked, simple and only a little bit desperate.

Q teasingly assessed him for a moment, Bond remaining very still and palpably uncomfortable, fidgeting a little, watching Q with a continued plea. “I don’t know if you’ve earned help.  After all, wouldn’t want to be a  _wimp_  now, would we?”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Bond repeated. “ _Please_  help.”

Another long moment. Bond looked the closest to tears Q was ever likely to see him.

He nimbly darted to Bond’s side, withdrawing a tube of aloe vera gel. “Stay still, and I’ll get this onto your back. It’ll help.”

“What is…”

“Aloe vera, and if you say a  _damn thing_  about it not being a sanctioned painkiller I’ll use it as lube and _believe me_ , you won’t want that. Actually that’s a good point, you’re not gonna want sex for days…”

Bond let out another elaborate groan.

“… and that’s entirely your fault. As to aloe vera, known to help with burns.”

“I know,” Bond grumbled. “I…”

“Shh,” Q interjected. Bond dutifully fell silent. “Better. I’ll be nice if you’re nice.”

“I’m  _always_ …”

“ _SHH_ ,” Q repeated, enjoying himself tremendously. “Next time, you’ll listen to me when I tell you about suncream. Yes?”

“You’re torturing me,” Bond told Q, a moment before the icy cold gel hit his back. “ _Fuck_.”

Q smirked, unseen, and started to very gently rub it over his crimson shoulderblades.

That would teach him.


	784. Chapter 784

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you could, please do a fic with Bond returning from a mission and finding Q with a beard and he just cant help himself. – anon

“I was only gone for a month and a half!” Bond protested, finally breaking his silence.

“Forty-three minutes,” Q replied, moving from one computer to another.

Bond looked at him, bemused. “Forty three minutes…?”

“It took you forty three minutes before commenting on it, well done.” Q told him, typing away.

“You have a small forest on your lower face, forgive me for asking,” Bond replied, a little tersely.

“I grow hair fast,” Q replied, smirking slightly. “Or are you still under the delusion that I’m prepubescent?”

Bond looked away, absentmindedly stroking his own chin. It was admittedly impressive. And rather attractive, if he was being honest.

Mostly, though, it was just plain  _weird_.

“I don’t…”

“ _Hair growth_ , James. I grow hair. You grow hair. Tanner has a five o’clock shadow that appears at ten in the morning, and I have a full-grown beard within six weeks. It happens. M stays baby-faced for weeks at a time. Eve tried and failed. It happens.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be sarcastic.”

“Why on earth not?” Q returned lightly. “Seriously, James. Stop it. Just a beard.”

“ _Why_?”

“Again – why on earth not?”

Bond let out an aggrieved sound, and generally gestured. Q blinked.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Q decided dismissively, and returned attention to his computer.

Bond closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “How long is it staying?”

Q shrugged. “Not sure. Debating a moustache, just for fun.”

Bond’s expression was priceless.


	785. Chapter 785

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just got hit by this plot bunny, and I thought to share it with you: in my soulmate AU (basically people with matching tattooes are “destined” to be together), a nineteen years old James Bond starts getting attached to a ten years old hyperbrilliant kid who lives in the same foster home he grew up in (whether a positive or negative experience, it’s your choice). He cares for him in a brotherly way until, on his sixteenth birthday, the tattoo makes his appearance and… - fridatwin

Q was Bond’s favourite of the extended family he possessed. His foster parents were wonderful people – Bond visited them fairly frequently, even after leaving to find somewhere of his own – and in doing so, had met the boy that only let anybody call him ‘Q’.

They had become friends. Q liked having somebody close to his intellectual level (Bond had to concede, he was terrifyingly bright for a ten-year-old) and Bond just liked the boy. He was interesting, curious, learnt with terrifying speed and could do wonders with everything technological that Bond owned.

“… you broke it,” Q tsked, taking the phone from Bond’s apologetic fingers. “Really, James, I don’t know  _why_  I bother doing these things for you…”

“Because you like me,” Bond laughed, as the fifteen-year-old’s fingers danced over the phone, flicking the cover off, the back off, pulling out a minute multitool from his pocket and cracking into it fully. “I didn’t…”

“Don’t lie,” Q warned him in advance.

“… it got dropped into a lake.”

“A lake,” Q repeated drily, rolling his eyes. “Alright. I’ll deal with it. When’re you back?”

Bond shrugged. “Off work for a fortnight. I might see if Carol’ll let me borrow the spare room…”

Q hummed his acknowledgement, attention elsewhere.

Bond just noticed the slightest darkness on his hip, where his shirt had risen up slightly, and felt a surge of  _something_  in his chest as his own shooting star – dark black across his shoulder – burned.

He ignored it, and left Q to his own devices.

-

Q already knew. He had seen the star start to creep into life, darkening by increments, and knew the shape far too well. Bond had walked around shirtless before, Q was accustomed to seeing it.

Which meant that Bond – nine years his senior – was his soulmate.

It seemed deeply unfair that Bond would be destined to somebody like Q; intellectual and emotionally underdeveloped, far too young, naïve in many regards. Q was more than aware of his own fallacies, and how they would not compliment Bond in any way whatsoever.

Thus, Q decided to disappear. Take his star and his destiny and run a very long way away. If Bond was his soulmate, they would find each other again in the end, and maybe then – maybe – Q would be ready.

-

“… gone,” Carol was explaining, with evident distress.

Q’s birthday. Sixteen, and he had vanished now he was legally able, without a word of warning or any evident sign of returning.

“I thought he was happy,” Carol said softly, quietly devastated.

Bond’s expression softened. Carol loved the foster children she took in quite completely, and had absolutely adored Q. “I know he was,” Bond assured her. “It’s something else. It must be.”

Carol was trying hard not to cry, and very nearly succeeding. Bond scooped her into a hug, his own expression hidden from view, wishing he could understand why Q – of all people,  _Q_  – had decided to disappear.

“I’ll find him,” Bond promised, very gently. “I’ll find him.”


	786. Chapter 786

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a guardian angel sent to earth to protect agent 007 from death. He slowly realizes it’s a quite complicated task. – anon

“Are you sodding  _kidding me_?” Q snapped, and flew sharply downwards in the vague hope of somewhere ensuring that the effing sodding  _moron_  James Bond didn’t die from either a) the gunshot or b) drowning or c) breaking every bone in his body from hitting water at that high velocity.

 _Really_ , one was enough to deal with on a bad day. All three was just taking the piss.

Q slid into the water before Bond did, chopping up the water into defter waves that would be less damaging at force, tilting Bond’s body to enter at a kind angle. Q’s fingers found the gunshot wound, ensuring the bullet stayed inside, inhibiting blood loss. Q’s breath pushed into Bond’s body, keeping his heart and lungs working, long enough for the man to get fished out.

Q was exhausted, and very bored of trying to deal with Bond while a damned ethereal. It would be easier to be  _present_ , to actually make sure Bond  _avoided_  these kinds of situations rather than constantly running to stop him halfway.

Once Bond was in safe hands, and would be for a long while, Q elected to slide into the body of a boy who had no angel. Indeed, one who was just  _waiting_  for a soul to fill him and flood him, make him more than what he was; Q took possession of the body, and in doing so, actually  _became_  Q.

It was a strange experience. Q hated wearing bodies, as a rule.

“… double-oh seven.”

It was easier to enjoy art galleries while in a corporeal form, Q mused, staring at a Turner painting he had known for centuries. “You must be joking.”

“It gets better,” Q said lightly. “I’m your guardian angel. Surely you must recognise me?”

Bond, with palpable shock, twisted to look over Q. “Why should I recognise you?!”

“My presence, if not my physical body, should be remembered by your soul,” Q explained primly. “Naturally, nobody can know I’m your guardian, by the way. I took a physical form in the hope it would do more good; I was able to do little more than incidental assistance previously, mostly in damage control. This ought to be a preventative measure.”

Bond looked deeply irritated. “I don’t need a guardian angel meddling in my life.”

“I’m not meddling, I’m doing my job, as Q would be in any circumstance. Now, I have some equipment for you; bring it back in one piece, if you would, I know what you’re like.”

“You do  _not_.”

Q shot him an acerbic glance. “I’ve known you since you were born. I know what you do with your equipment. Don’t even  _try it_. Good day, Bond, and I’m certain we shall speak again soon.”

Behind him, Q could just hear the muttered  _‘brave new world_ ’.

He couldn’t help but smile.


	787. Chapter 787

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have two songfic prompts and would be honored to read just one. Both make me think of 00Q, the first is Stay With Me by Sam Smith the second is Wasted by Tiesto. Much love! – anon

Q had never been the type to enjoy one-night stands; they tended to leave him feeling a little empty, a little uncomfortable. Sex was something associated with more profound emotion than sexual desire, and it was just  _weird_  to him.

Bond, on the other hand, had no such compunctions. He genuinely enjoyed it. Sex, without strings, without attachments or the stress of continued attachment; he had a good evening, satisfied with a beautiful creature, and moved on without looking back.

Sleeping together was a colossally bad idea. Both of them knew it, but they were drunk and bored and Bond hadn’t had sex in at least a fortnight (and none with a man in over six months) and Q thought Bond was gorgeous and jumped at the opportunity when it presented itself.

“I’d better be off,” Bond said in the morning, as Q yawned, putting the kettle on.

Q’s eyes darted to him. “You can stay for breakfast, if you like,” he broached; somehow, he wasn’t surprised at Bond’s headshake. Q  _knew_.

Q had never been the type to enjoy one-night stands.

Bond was.

“James…”

Bond looked at him, really looked, with a coldness Q didn’t bother to counter. Bond had flatly stated his intentions, and Q was not intended to be anything of note; he has thrown away any chances of being more.

Thus, he watches Bond leave, fingers tight around a Snoopy mug he’s had since he was sixteen, thinking.

-

Seven weeks later, and Q is yawning slightly in his office as he looks over all manners of blueprints, plans, a multitool in his hand that he has no intention of using, given that he’s so tired he will probably kill something if he tries.

Bond strides in, all smiles and smooth talking, and Q is mildly irritated because his general mental state is very rarely helped by Bond in close proximity.

(mostly because the pair have slept together four other times in the past few weeks, and every single time, Q has been so drunk it seemed like a good idea when it  _isn’t_  and he sort-of knows it).

“What can I do for you, double-oh seven?” he asks, light, not looking up.

In answer, Bond walks around Q’s desk, tilts his chin upwards, looks into Q’s sharp green eyes, and kisses him.

Q returns it, for a moment, before realising the crass stupidity of what he is doing. “Bond, what the _hell_  do you think you’re playing?” he asks sharply. “We slept together, yes, but I was under the  _distinct_ impression that you had no further interest in me. Am I correct?”

“Not quite.”

Bond is unreadable, as the man seems to always be.

“Do go on?” Q asks, with sarcastic weariness.

Bond’s expression is neutral. “I think it would be… interesting… to try for something more than friends who sleep together when drunk,” he suggests. “Does that seem acceptable?”

“Are you asking me out?”

Bond grins. Q’s expression remaining quietly shocked. “Yes, Quartermaster. I believe I am.”

Q blinks. “I’m done at seven.”

The grin stays entirely intact. “Perfect.”


	788. Chapter 788

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hii, I don’t know if you like Xmen (if not feel free to ignore this prompt) but I was wondering if you could do some sort of 00q/xmen crossover where most of the double ohs are mutants but then Bond finds out that Q is also a mutant (mutation probably having to do with technology). Thanks <3 – anon

The double oh program had long been known by the powers that be to be the mutant division. Highly skilled and deadly, young men and women were groomed from childhood into merciless killing machines. Their individual mutations were assessed and used to best advantage. Bond’s was arguably the most useful – near infinite healing. Bullets left no mark, he could walk into a room of armed terrorists and walk out again without a scratch.

Others had other advantages, speed, strength, the ability to manipulate energy. A double oh’s lifetime was often incredibly short, except Bond’s.

The mutants were registered, known, and under government control. It was a workable system.

“… and dare I ask where the remnants of your equipment are?” Q asked, with a dash of forced politeness, sarcastic and light.

Bond grinned, all teeth, and placed what was probably once a gun on the table.

Q let out a sigh. “And this is supposed to be…?”

“Broken.”

“I ascertained that much,” Q replied, with the barest shadow of a smile; even when obnoxious, Bond had the ability to be utterly charming. Q hated and loved him in equal measure for it.

Q picked it up with two fingers, tsked slightly, examining it in minute detail.

In front of Bond’s eyes, it started to meld back together, reform. It took forty seconds or so. Q looked at it once again, eyes narrowing, closing briefly before sharpening to a lethal intensity. “Ha,” he said quietly, and fired it at the opposite wall.

Bond swore, Q laughed, and the wall earned another bullet hole to add to the dozens Bond somehow not noticed before.

“How did you do that?!”

Q looked at Bond with frank confusion. “How do you think? Mutant.”

“You can manipulate metal…”

Utter condescension. “This has plastic components, Bond, and indeed derivatives,” Q told him. “No; it is far more intricate than that. I can fix things, create things. A plan for a weapon, a gadget – if you will – and I am able to fuse it together without equipment, without tools. It forms for me, if I am able to picture it in its entirety. Helped by an eidetic memory, although jury’s out on whether that’s a mutation or just me…”

“How eidetic?”

“Perfect,” Q shrugged. “Perfect, total recall, of everything I have experience. I can therefore look through plans, amend, in my head. No need to write it down, I just… deal with it.”

Bond blinked.

Q smirked. “You didn’t think you were the  _only_  one with a decent mutation?” he asked mockingly.

“It’s excellent,” Bond said simply, picking up his reformed gun. “Bizarre, but excellent.”

“Quite,” Q returned, and returned attention to the plans scattered over his desk, while Bond pondered just how thorough Q’s eidetic memory was, wondering.


	789. Chapter 789

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I request one where either James or Q is one of the three musketeers and the other is the prince they must protect? – anon

You seem a little…young to be a musketeer,“ The crown prince commented, looking down at the man supposedly sent to protect him. He had given his name only as Q, and looked rather like a dandy highwayman.

Q raised his eyebrow, faster than Bond could follow, the man had sliced his bracers off – leading to his trousers falling to his ankles.

"Point taken.”

“I can assure you, your highness, that I am more than up to the task,” Q told him smugly, sheathing his sword.

Bond found himself smiling too; there was something oddly likeable about the pale young man before him. “I have received several threats in the light of my mother’s recent actions regarding Italy,” Bond informed him, “I believe that tonight’s dinner may therefore make me the target.”

Q hummed his understanding, while Bond picked up and fastened his trousers. “I would suggest that I should remain by your side indefinitely; your swordsmanship skills are doubtless good, but I certainly have more experience.”

Bond scanned the man up and down with palpable scepticism.

“Don’t make me cut off other parts of your clothing,” Q commented drily. “Now, I assume you have some form of schedule for your days; I would strongly suggest that we spend at least two hours daily on swordsmanship skills; I will be present if anything happens, but I would prefer that you are at _competent_  should anything go wrong.”

Bond would have objected – and indeed been rather rude about it – had it not been for the fact that he genuinely liked his clothing. In fact, was rather possessive about his clothing. “Understood.”

Q smirked. “Shall we begin now?”

“Here?”

Q raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “Problem?” he coaxed, with the slightest suggestion: Bond would be a coward to refuse.

Both reached for their weapons in tandem.

Q was blindingly fast. Bond had mostly strength and physical dexterity on his side; Q just a deftness in his swordwork that made Bond feel mildly faint.

For the first time in longer than Bond could remember, he was soundly beaten in a sword fight.

“I like you,” he told Q frankly.

Q smiled, and dipped his head in appreciation. “Thank you, your highness,” he smirked – with just a touch of subordination – and handed Bond’s sword back to him.


	790. Chapter 790

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is always cold, and the branch he works in is not helping his fingers and toes stay warm and mobile either. Good thing his lover, the infamous James Bond, is always ready to warm him up. Your choice if fluffy or smexy. :)) – addictedtomoo

Q cursed everything ever involved in the manufacture of air conditioning, computers that needed fans, _anything_  that required cooling down that meant that his  _bloody_  hands were perpetually freezing. For Christ’s sake, he had taken to portable heat packs just to get through the day.

He had to admit, though; it was infinitely better when Bond was around.

Bond, in short, didn’t get cold. He was a walking heater, especially across his torso; he entered Q’s office, lifted his shirt, and stoically bore the icy cold hands that immediately made contact.

Q practically  _whimpered_  with gratitude.

“Surely there’s a way to…”

“… we’ve talked about this,” Q reminded Bond, shuffling closer, heating everything of him that could vine around Bond’s body. “Computers overheat, and they’re more valuable than me.”

Bond lifted Q’s chin slightly, looking into his eyes. “I doubt that,” he said softly, a gentle honesty in it that took Q’s breath away.

It wasn’t fair. Bond was very, very good at taking Q’s breath away. Q was fairly sure he should object, but couldn’t force the motion to start. Instead, he let his heart do something weird, and buried his face in Bond’s stomach.

“I try to be nice, and he buries himself,” Bond mused to nothing. “Q? Come out.”

“Shan’t,” Q mumbled, face against the heat of Bond’s ridiculous six-pack. Really, it was unreasonable. Q did  _not_  deserve a man like this. Certainly not a man who worked part-time as a portable heater.

(He adored the man, of course, but  _still_ ).

“Q, come out.”

Reluctantly, Q pulled back, still hugging Bond close. His fingers were warmer now. It didn’t stop him holding onto Bond.

Bond lifted his chin, his body, and kissed him.

Blood rushed everywhere at once. Hot blood, warming everything in Q’s body, his heart doing the weird thing again and flooding endorphins and what-not (Q didn’t really care what in that moment) around him, all-consuming, and good sweet lord but Bond was a good kisser.

“Better?” Bond murmured against his lips.

Q let out a  _very_  inelegant noise, and kissed him again.


	791. Chapter 791

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey could you fill this prompt for me please? :) basically an au where neither James or Q work for MI6 and Q is a homeless teenager going through withdrawals because the only dealer Q trusts has just disappeared. Maybe James actually knows Q (he works at the rehab centre Q went to before his parents gave up on him and disowned him) and basically they gradually fall in love or something please and thank you:) – anon

The kid was convulsing. Definitely not what Bond considered ideal, and he thanked every star for the fact that he was extremely experienced in what to do with a young kid shivering out of his skin.

It took a moment to realise that he  _knew_  the kid in question.

“Q?”

Q wasn’t coherent, not even a little bit. The boy had been in the rehab centre Bond worked in; he had bluntly refused to be called by his birth name, instead known as ‘Q’ and one of the clinic’s better patients.

They had hoped, all of them, that he wouldn’t relapse.

Apparently, he had.

It was Q’s brain. He couldn’t cope with the constant buzz of his own thoughts. Psychiatrist consults had commented, concerned that he was simply too intelligent, knew how to lie; yet, he seemed to be very thorough. He had breakdowns. The occasional violent outburst. ‘Model’ patients tended to be lying; Q had been the perfect flawed but improving patient, and they had dispatched him with (mostly) confidence.

“Q, look at me.”

Q focused. Cackled with laughter. “Hi,” he mumbled, and laughed a bit more, before he started sobbing. “There has to be something you can give me, fuck, and how the fuck am I here? They won’t pay for it…”

Bond sighed slightly. “You’re not in the clinic, you’re behind Tesco’s”

Q paused, eyes trying to focus, glancing around him. “Oh yeah,” he managed, and let out another whimper. “I need it,” he managed. “ _Please_.”

“You know I won’t,” Bond told him. “Coke?”

The boy nodded pathetically. “I don’t want to go back. Please.”

“Your parents?”

Q cackled again, which was answer enough: they had threatened to kick him out before (and, in fact, had done) and it didn’t surprise Bond that they had for good. Possibly. It was difficult to establish _anything_  with Q in this state.

“Come on. With me.”

“Fuck you,” Q mumbled, looking very close to passing out. “ _Fuck_  you…”

He passed out. Bond lifted him, and carted him home, fairly grateful the kid was – at least – no longer going to be objecting.


	792. Chapter 792

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it would be funny, all the double oh’s do the ice bucket challenge – anon
> 
> I honour of Daniel Craig doing ASL ice bucket challenge, could we have James doing it and nominating M and then M doing it? – anon

Q couldn’t help but laugh.

Bond had been nominated by 001, nominated by R, nominated by Tanner, et cetera. Now, the circle of unmitigated madness was travelling around every single part of MI6 (and indeed every other MI department), with every single department having some poor sod doing it.

Q had thus far avoided it. He didn’t have long. Bond would nominate him, Q could see that much coming.

With a devilish grin, Bond poured the ice water over his head, shirt instantly sticking to him in a Mr Darcy-esque fashion that made Q slightly weak at the knees.

“Here goes,” mumbled Q to himself, as he waited for Bond’s inevitable nomination.

Bond shook his head to dislodge the water, and looked directly to the camera. “I nominate M.”

Q’s jaw dropped. Eve burst out laughing. M looked homicidal.

“… so help me, he will be doing paperwork from now until December,” he hissed, and stalked out of Q’s office to find Bond, who was still laughing on screen with whoever was filming.

Q just couldn’t believe his luck. M was bound to pick Eve, and Eve would nominate 006 (they had been dating for ages now) and realistically, there was  _far_  less chance of Q being nominated which meant he _didn’t_  have to go on film pouring ice water over his head.

M did his the same day. Everybody in every single department  _ever_  watched with glee and horror and fear as M – with a surprising degree of dignity – prepared himself.

There was something awe-inspiring about a man of M’s power pouring a bucket of iced water over his head. Somehow, he managed to command a certain degree of poise; it seemed impossible, and yet, there it was.

“I,” M said to camera, giving himself a moment to recover, “nominate Q.”

Q’s eyes widened. “ _No_ ,” he whispered aloud. “No. No, I  _refuse_.”

“You can’t refuse,” R piped up, with an absolutely evil grin. “Everybody else has done it.”

It was true: most of MI6 had got involved. Q whimpered slightly. “I’m going to kill him,” he said, without much conviction, and grouched into his office with a mumble of anger. “Bloody  _sodding_  viral trends, don’t know  _why_  it has to gather so much momentum, and such a  _stupid_  thing to do…”

The next day, with a change of clothes to hand, Q sat glaring at a camera. “I hate all of you,” he said almost inaudibly, before pouring the bucket over his head and screeching slightly at the temperature. “I nominate Eve Moneypenny.  _Ha_.”

Eve was definitely,  _definitely_  going to kill him.


	793. Chapter 793

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fem!00Q in high school. Q is an introverted, relatively quiet, queer, nerdy girl with no romantic or sexual experience whatsoever. Not a single boyfriend or girlfriend, never been kissed. Bond is a confident, easy going, queer girl who has been around the block a few times. She knows what she’s doing between someone’s legs. They fall for each other and Bond has to show Q the ropes when it comes to kissing and sex. Lots of fluff and NSFW, please! Thank you! *kisses* - anon

To avoid complete restraining order levels, Bond decided against adding her as a friend before meeting the girl in person, actually introducing herself, maybe talking a little.

Actually  _finding_ her turned out to be the greatest mission; Bond found herself desperately combing the school in the apparently fruitless attempt to locate her in breaks when they weren’t supposed to be in lessons.

A tip-off eventually sent her in the direction of the IT room – and sure enough, she found Q curled, cat-like, in front of a screen.

Q glanced up, as Bond came closer. “Can I help you?” she asked, looking confused and turning a little bit pink.

Bond paused. very aware that she had literally no reason to be there. “I think you know Becky? Girl in my year,” she tried, pointlessly. Q blinked. Bond sighed. “Look, I’ve been trying to track you down for a bit, I…”

“… I know,” Q interrupted lightly, with a small smile. “You’re not very subtle.”

There was no sting in her words; in fact, Bond got the impression she was rather flattered. “Well,” Bond continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee.”

“Why?”

Q looked – if it was possible – even  _more_  confused. Bond smiled with her customary suavity and confidence, and just told the truth: “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’d like to get to know you better.”

Confusion morphed into something close to terror and awe, and the embarrassment had turned Q spectacularly red, her voice coming out in sporadic splutters; nobody  _did that_  in real life, nobody just turned round and  _said_  things like that, and Q’s brain was short-circuiting and wondering if she’d misheard. “I… well. Yes. Yes. You’re… you’re too, I… Erm, yes. I’d like that, I…”

Words had decided they didn’t want to happen. Bond intervened before Q went so pink she ruptured something. “We could just hit Starbucks after school, if you like? I’m free all evening…”

Q nodded. Words  _definitely_  didn’t want to happen. It seemed safest to stay silent.

(Bond was the hottest girl in the building by a stupidly long margin. Q was fairly sure she was dreaming).

“Okay, well… I’ll meet you outside the gates if you like? I’m in chem so might be a few minutes late…”

Q nodded again, a little more fervently, and took a moment to gather enough self control to – in a steady voice – say: “Thank you, that would be perfect.”

Never in her  _life_  had Q been so proud of saying six words.

Bond smiled, and Q restrained the urge to whimper slightly at how stupendously  _beautiful_  the girl was. “See you then,” she told Q lightly, and left, her own heart beating in her throat while Q twisted back to the screen, eyes wide behind her glasses, and restrained the urge to hysterically giggle.


	794. Chapter 794

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s boyfriend found out that Q was pregnant and than he kicked him out. Bond hears it.. – anon

Q was curled up on a camp bed in his office, apparently having slept there. “I have to admire your commitment,” Bond commented slightly, smirking at Q’s dozy state. “Not going home any more, then?”

“Bond, what are doing in my office at this time in the morning?” Q asked tiredly, looking rather ill, exhausted. “I’ve had a very difficult few days… if this is about your equipment again…”

Bond’s eyes narrowed slightly with concern. “Are you alright?” he asked, a little more gently.

Q looked at him, truly looked. Without his glasses he looked considerably younger, a little uncoordinated as he grabbed them and slid them onto his nose, hair everywhere. “Not especially, since you ask,” Q returned drily. “As I said, a difficult few days.”

“Can I help?”

Q’s smile was bitter, unpleasant somehow. “Unless you can make me not-pregnant and/or make my now ex-boyfriend less of a tosser, no, I’d imagine not.”

Bond was quiet, still. “Pregnant?”

“Yes,” Q returned flatly. “As that fact more than amply illustrates, my genitalia does not correlate with my gender. I was under the apparently misguided impression that after a good deal of hormone therapy and top-surgery and everything else I wouldn’t actually be  _able_  to get pregnant but  _apparently_ I’m a sodding anomaly.”

Bond let out a slow breath. “Okay. Do you want a child?”

Q looked at Bond as though he was entirely insane. “No. No, I do not.”

“Then becoming… not-pregnant, as you said…”

“It doesn’t change that the simple  _fact_  of me being pregnant has horrified my now- _ex_  boyfriend and he threw me out. He wasn’t supposed…  he knew I was biologically… but he didn’t think I could, I told him I couldn’t and I  _swear_  I thought I couldn’t, but he… I think he panicked, I think… I don’t know  _what_  I think but he didn’t want to know, he thought I’d lied to him and what  _else_  had I been lying about and so… so I’m, yes. And I don’t know how to deal with any… well, an abortion, because… shit, it would mean having some  _very_  uncomfortable conversations and I don’t… I don’t  _want_  to have to explain… so yes. That.”

Bond hadn’t moved in a very long time.

Q was shaking slightly, gaze darting to Bond and back.

Neither spoke.

“You’ll need somewhere to stay, then,” Bond said calmly, simply. “You can’t live in Q-branch, it’s not good for your health. Whatever you elect to do, it can be dealt with. Medical might know where you could go, they’ll be discreet.”

Q smiled very slightly, very sadly. “I have no doubt. I just don’t  _want_  to. And I can’t invade your house…”

“… yes, you can. I have space and I’ll buy in Earl Grey. Do you need to pick up anything from your old flat?”

Q blinked. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I am,” Bond agreed.

To Bond’s slight surprise, Q actually smiled. “Thank you,” the younger man murmured. “Thank you.”


	795. Chapter 795

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies! whenever you get the time would you be able to fill this prompt? Q is working on some major plans and loses all of his work and rages around like an angry cat before bond shows up and comforts him? just something fluffy would be nice. stay amazing you two x – anon

Q was swearing.

“ _**** [censored] aliudhliuahilsh f***ing [censored] *********_ ”

It was actually rather impressive. His staff would probably never recover. Certainly, nobody would see him in the same way; he was actively frightening and definitely knew  _far_  too many very innovative swear words for anybody of any age, and when coming from Q – red and puffing like a steam train, and occasionally just outright screaming in frustration, slamming hands on the desk and throwing papers left right and centre – it was one of the single most terrifying experiences of Q-branch’s collective hive memory.

Bond’s phone rang. “Help.”

“… R?”

“Yes. Help.”

“What’s happened?”

“Q happened. He lost a lot of work, and he’s gone mad.”

Bond let out a slight sigh. “Mad in what way?”

There was a loud crash, shattering glass, and an almost-sob of terror from R. “ _Get in here_ ,” she hissed violently, and hung up.

R would genuinely kill him if Q kept going as he had been. Bond ran out the door.

-

Twenty minutes. Within  _twenty minutes_ , Q had shut down half the internet, and there was no hyperbole involved in that statement.

Q was raving, raging, eyes sharp black and red (and probably green somewhere, but Bond was damned if he could see it), and still huffing out air, beads of sweat, hair flying off wildly everywhere, screeching like a bat.

“Q. Calm down.”

“ _FUCK YOU_.”

Bond stepped forward, ignoring everything in the vicinity – including the possibility of a punch to the nose – and grasped onto the younger man’s wrists.

There was a dangerous, lethal,  _terrifying_  moment.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“ _Let go_.”

“Are you going to keep breaking things?”

“ _JAMES FUCKING BOND I AM YOUR SUPERIOR OFF…_ ”

“… icer and if you do not let me go right this instant and let me be angry because I am angry…”

“… don’t finish my sentences.”

Bond tried not to smile too obviously; Q was folding, becoming slightly but noticeably softer. “Q, you’ve gone mad.”

“… maybe a little,” Q admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I really… it was  _so much work_ , James, it’s going to take  _days_ …”

Bond nodded sympathetically. “But you’re not allowed to trash the office, or the internet.”

“ _It was the internet’s fault_.”

Q looked endearingly livid, rather than imminently-homicidal. “I know. But you can’t break the internet. I’ll go make you tea.”

Bond let go of Q’s wrists, and pretended not to hear the muttered  _but Kim bloody Kardashian’s allowed to try break the internet…_  as Q headed back into his office, mercifully not slamming the door.

R had never looked so grateful in her life.


	796. Chapter 796

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello there lovely people! Can I request a fill where Bond falls asleep on Q at terrible times (during work, mid of foreplay etc) and Q has to deal with the quite heavy sleepy bundle of muscles each time? <3 – anon

If Bond were any more annoying, Q would make Medical diagnose him with narcolepsy and destroy his double-oh career quite entirely.

Q was not quite so malicious, but it was a seriously close call, especially when said bloody sodding double-oh passed out on his lap after coming into his office and kissing him senseless.

Bond had fallen asleep almost instantly. It was frankly unfair. Q’s ego had never been so bruised. It was like flicking a switch; a kiss or two, and Bond would be completely stone-cold unconscious and snoring.

“… James, I am going to kill you…” Q muttered, trying to extricate his legs from beneath Bond’s mass. “Absolutely kill you…”

R tapped on the door, poked her head around, and saw Bond’s head in Q’s lap. R went pale. Q was confused, until he realised how it looked. “R, he’s asleep, it’s not…”

“It’s fine,” R said quickly. “I’ll just go…”

“It’s  _fine_ ,” Q repeated, more emphatically, trying once again with renewed fervour to get Bond off him. “R, it’s…”

R was already out the door, with a muffled call of “ _I’ll send an email!_ ” and the surefire knowledge that she would not be entering the office unannounced for a very long while.

“You know, sometimes I bloody hate you,” Q muttered darkly at the pile of motionless mass. “Twat. Honest to god, I’m going to  _kill_  you when you wake up…”

Only thing was, Q always felt horrendous waking Bond up; the man got so little sleep as it was, especially post-missions, that it seemed actively cruel to wake him.

Instead, Q settled for pushing him off his lap. Bond landed on the floor with a rather impressive thunk, groaned a bit, fidgeted, and stayed obnoxiously unconscious.

_Cheers, R._

_PS: I won’t tell M, promise._

Q let out an active growl, and typed back viciously:  _IT WAS NOT SEX_

The smirk was almost audible:  _Not my business, grand Quartermaster. X_

Only R would have the bloody audacity to sign off messages with kisses.

Bond snored. Q ignored him. Bond snored louder. Q kicked him.

“…  _what_ ,” he mumbled, opening his eyes blearily to focus on Q. “Oh. Hello. Everything alright?”

Q couldn’t help but look deeply unimpressed. “Yes,  _dear_ , you’ve just been snoring on my office floor and R thinks we’ve been having sex, and I’m frankly disappointed we haven’t been. How was Geneva?”  
“… tiring,” Bond supplied, pulling himself up to lie on Q’s knees again, doing what could almost be described as  _cuddling_.

“Never would have guessed.”

“Sorry.”

Bond was mumbling.  _Sleepy-_ mumbling. “No. No, James, you do  _not_  fall straight back to sleep again, do I make myself clear?”

“Mmn-hmm,” Bond yawned, and settled himself more comfortably. “Love you too.”

“ _No_ , James, no…”

Q pushed Bond off his lap. Bond made a disgruntled noise, and declined to move again.

“I’m doomed,” Q muttered to himself, and consoled himself sending inordinate amounts of work to R as revenge.


	797. Chapter 797

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I work in food. and I would love it if you two talented people could do a fic where James and Q are out dining in a very fancy restaurant and James orders an appetizer in French. Q doesn’t know French, James hand feeds him a bit of it not realizing that Q is highly allergic to the main ingrediant which is Figs. Chaos insues and James relying on Q having an epi pen ( saw it happen in the restaurant I work at) angst and hurt comfort would rock.. You two ROCK! – anon

“… and this is why I order things,” Bond was saying, looking orgasmically happy as he took several spoonfuls of the appetiser. “How’s yours?”

Q looked deeply pleased with himself. “Bread. Cheese. All good.”

“… that level of simplicity is practically insulting,” Bond sighed, looking vaguely mournful, “although glad I made the right call for you. Taste?”

“Go on,” Q nodded, opening his mouth, grinning like a child as Bond aeroplaned it in, with not even a nod towards sexiness. Q took a moment, before his eyes widened dramatically. “Holy  _shit_.”

Bond smirked. “I know.”

“Call an ambulance.”

“Bit melodramatic.”

“No, James,” Q repeated, a lot more seriously. “Figs, yes? Those were figs?”

Bond still didn’t quite understand. “Yes…?”

Q started rifling through his bag. “Fuck fuck  _fuck_  fuck…”

“Q, explain.”

“I’m allergic, seriously allergic,” Q continued, babbling, practically emptying the bag over the floor in his haste. “Fucking  _hell_ , should have, it’s got to be in here… James,  _ambulance_ , I’m trying to find my…”

Q’s breath was already becoming pressured, the staff were noticing, the restaurant’s atmosphere becoming tense and palpably frightened. “Call an ambulance, anaphylaxis,” Bond ordered a waiter, and took over Q’s now rather hysterical searches.

Bond could see a redness spreading, his lips swelling. “Fuck.”

“It’ll be alright,” Bond repeated, glancing through: no epipen. Definitely no epipen. Bond grabbed Q’s bag. “Q, it’ll be alright.”

“I’m scared.”

Everybody was, by the looks of things; the diners, the staff, all were exchanging terrified glances and trying to work out what to do with minimal degrees of success. “Got it,” Q suddenly managed, pulling it out of a pocket of the bag he had honestly forgotten existed.

In the space of a few careful gestures, he tipped it out the canister, flicked off the top, and stabbed it viciously into his thigh.

“Ambulance?”

“On the way,” the terrified staff member bleated. “Sir, we didn’t…”

“Not your fault,” Q told them instantly. “Honestly. It’s all fine.”

Bond was still tight-lipped, very still. “I nearly killed you.”

Q rolled his eyes. “No. Bond, you do  _not_  get to make this about you. Be a darling, stay with me in the ambulance, and be very  _very_  nice to me for the next few days. You didn’t poison me, you didn’t bloody _know_ , and I hadn’t warned you.”

“But…”

“Shh,” Q reiterated sharply. “Not a word.”

Bond nodded, and stayed at Q’s side, holding the younger man as they waited for the ambulance.


	798. Chapter 798

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fem!Q Q is a very stubborn snappy girl as Quartermaster but once shes on a mission she becomes a seductive experienced woman. OOQ please! With James becoming very baffled on their first mission together. – anon

“I’m gorgeous.”

Bond couldn’t really deny it, but he hated to concede defeat on the matter: Q was a pain in the arse, geeky and acerbic and frankly rude, oversized glasses and messy hair and Bond had never seen her in a skirt or dress in all the time he’d known her.

Until now.

Q was in a floor-length cocktail dress, and it was frankly insulting, how good she looked.

“… yes,” Bond acknowledged, feeling himself stiffen as Q slid an arm into his. “Very good, Quartermaster. Are we…”

“Armed?”

Bond blinked. He got briefly distracted by the impeccable makeup Q was wearing, a little dark flick in the corners of the eyes, a shade of red that perfectly matched the plunge of her dress.

Mouth dry, Bond didn’t trust himself to do more than nod. “Good,” Q mused, and – with Bond all but trailing behind her – strode towards their door. “Now remember the brief…”

“… yes, you’re my wife, you’re sleeping around.”

Q grinned. “As are you, dear,” she smirked, and kissed him on one cheek in a way that Bond just  _knew_ would have left a stain. “Let’s have a fun evening, shall we?”

Their arms were linked until the moment Q got distracted by their mark; she extracted herself, and glided towards the mark, everything of her oozing a devastating sensuality that made Bond feel mildly ill.

“… your wife?”

Bond let out a noncommittal noise. The woman – beautiful, elegant, perfectly everything – tsked her understanding. “Mine too,” she said sadly, which was the point at which Bond realised two things:

  
1) She was his mark, and he should have been paying attention

2) Q very literally had her tongue down the mark’s throat.

It had been less than five minutes.

“Elisabeth,” the mark’s wife told Bond.

Bond tore his gaze away from Q – his Q, his sarcastic, bitter,

_arsehole_

of a Quartermaster – and back to his mark. “Bond. James Bond.”


	799. Chapter 799

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, is there any chance that you could write a Bond/Q fill where Q has a really thick, stereotypically working class accent (I’ll leave the specifics up to you, but just imagine Q with a Yorkshire accent… or Cockney… hell, Q as a scouser) that he’s trained away (tragic backstory is always welcome), but comes out at inopportune moments or when he’s utterly exhausted. That would simply be the best, although I understand if you guys don’t have time :) – anon

The swearing was the thing that killed it.

_You fucking WHAT?!!_

Bond sighed, eyeing Q’s door. Someone was clearly in there, having a go at the young Quartermaster about something or other. This was far from ideal, as Bond was hoping to find the man in a pleasant mood - or at least pleasant enough to consider a third date with the double-oh agent.

After a few minutes of silence, Bond decided on knocking. Perhaps he could distract Q from whatever moron had decided to invade his office.

“Come in,” Q called. Bond pushed open the door with no small degree of trepidation.

He glanced around. Twice. A third time, to truly establish that Q, was in, fact: entirely alone.

“James? Is there an issue?” Q asked, voice tight and hands knotted in his computer wiring.

Bond turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not at all. I just thought I heard… well I thought there was someone else here.”

Q went slightly pink, hands knotting further into the wires. “No,” he said hurriedly. “Just me.”

Bond nodded, a little confused. “You er, having some trouble with that?” Bond asked.

“I’m  _fine_ , alright?” Q asked, vowels slipping ever so slightly. “Fuck!”. Bond coughed. “You say  _nothing_ , double oh seven, I swear down I will fire your arse if you do!”

“Cockney?” Bond asked, quite innocently.

Q looked up, eyes blazing. “Not everyone went to Eton,” he snapped, managing no ’t’s at all. “Some of us got here on talent.”

“I don’t mind Q,” Bond assured him, as Q threw the wires down. “It’s just… well it’s a shock.”

Q paused, hands on the desk. He took a moment, pressing his glasses back up his nose. When he looked up, his usual crispness was back in place.

“It’s not exactly something I advertise,” Q told him, sitting back in his chair. “When I applied for MI6, they loved me. The accent, less so. I was told quite firmly that people just couldn’t respect an accent like mine. So they hired me on the proviso I got elocution lessons.”

Bond took the opposite seat. “Seems a little unpleasant.”

Q shrugged, leaning back a little. “Well yeah,” he agreed. “Did you want something?”

“Dinner, actually,” Bond replied, smirking a little. “If you’d go with an Eton toff.”

Q blushed a little darker. “I'd… well. I’d love to,” he nodded. “Let me know when. Now off you go, Bond, I have work to do.”

Bond grinned and sauntered out, muttering  _cockney_  under his breath, and snorting at the memory.


	800. Chapter 800

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Q was dreaming about the newest Xbox (or PlayStation) but when he went to the shop the last console was bought by the man before him. So he comes home and cries – anon

Q woke up still going  _nnnnnngh_  aloud.

It was beautiful. It was coming. It would be  _his_.

The hours seemed to drag, the world slowing to an interminable crawl as he waited, as time ticked, and he waited and waited, and hoped and prayed, and he got to the counter and realised and  _shrieked_.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the attendant said gently. “We’ll have more in store soon.”

“Quite alright,” Q nodded, with as much dignity as he could muster. “These things happen.”

_Knew I should have preordered. Or bribed. Or stolen._

Stealing. That could work.

Q slammed the door viciously behind him as he walked into the flat. “Bad day?” Bond asked drily from the sofa. “I hate to say it, but it’s nine thirty in the morning, it can’t be that bad already…”

“They’d sold out.”

“What?”

“ _They’d sold out_ ,” Q repeated, with a touch of hysteria, and burst into tears.

Now, Bond was a fairly pragmatic individual. He had absolutely no idea what Q was talking about, but it wasn’t important; he was upset, and it was Bond’s apparent unenviable duty to deal with him.

Thus, he bundled Q into his arms, hoping that was a respectable options insofar as calming the younger man down.

Q objected half-heartedly for about ten seconds before conceding defeat into Bond’s arms. “I wanted it so badly,” Q mumbled into his shirt. Bond nodded sympathetically.

(Still no closer to understanding what was going on, but Q seemed mildly calmer)

“I’m an idiot.”

“Well… not an idiot, per se…”

Q whacked him. Bond snorted, and held him tighter. “Earl Grey?”

“No. It’s a coffee day.”

Bond extricated Q from his front, and looked over him with frank shock. “That bad?”

Q nodded pitifully.

“I’ll sort it out,” he said gently, kissed Q’s forehead, and went into the kitchen while Q let out a small shrieking sound again, and collapsed onto the sofa.


	801. Chapter 801

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has a bad habit. Often he mindlessly picks at his skin. His arms, shoulders, chest, and upper back get the worst of it. It gets worse when he’s nervous or on edge and ends up picking at scars and scabs and digging bloody gouges into his skin. James hates this and does what he can to help, but one day Q loses communication with him on a mission for a few days. James come home unhurt to find that Q has really hurt himself, though not on purpose. 00Q. Hurt/Comfort. Please and thank you. :) – anon

They were little more than scars when Bond had first seen them. a few scratches and scabs here and there. This had been at a reasonably calm point in the year. Sometimes it was gouges. Small chunks of flesh picked away on Q’s arms and back. Bond would try to assist him where possible, cleaning the ones Q couldn’t get to as easily and joking that he would send Q to work in mittens.

Then Dubai happened.

Bond staggered into Q-branch to find Q holed up in his office. Apparently, he’d barely left for the last few days; Bond knocked, and heard a strangled  _go away_.

“Q, it’s me.”

There was no answer, but the door clicked as it unlocked.

“You’re going to be angry,” Q mumbled from the desk, before Bond even had a vague chance of saying hello.

Bond raised an eyebrow, taking a careful few steps towards the desk.

“…  _what happened_?!”

Q didn’t smile, didn’t move much. “I… it’s fine, they’ll heal fine, I just need to keep them bandaged and…”

“You scratched?”

Q nodded, a small gesture, palpably ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I… you were off comms, stories were coming through that you’d been killed in action, I didn’t know what was going on… it was just, stress. I didn’t sleep enough, I didn’t…”

Bond hushed him gently, carefully. “Q, it’s alright.”

“It’s  _not_  though,” he exploded. “It’s not even slightly  _alright_. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t even… it’s not exactly a testimony to my general stability if this happens, and you  _didn’t_  die, I mean I’m fairly accustomed to the thought that you might but the actuality is a slightly different animal and I’ve had to hide in here for three days so nobody sees and asks awkward questions…”

“Stop.”

Q did as he was told, with just the slightest of breath hitches to betray his unravelling. Bond watched him, silent, as the tension dribbling from his shoulders, his entire body, and he was malleable as Bond pulled him close.

“We’ll deal with it,” Bond said softly. “I promise.”

Bond could feel Q crying. He wouldn’t have ever admitted it, and Bond didn’t comment. They just stayed there, holding onto one another for dear life.


	802. Chapter 802

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q. Their relationship begins and ends in front of a painting. – anon

“Grand old warship, being…”

Bond had tuned out of Q’s random pontificating, but was very much enjoying the timbre of his voice and the quirk of his smile; he was pretty, young, exactly the kind of creature Bond often enjoyed indulging in.

Skyfall burned, and Bond returned to MI6 to efficiently and effectively meet the Quartermaster, the new M, and whatever was left of the agency he had spent his life working for.

It seemed somehow organic, the shift into what was generally termed a ‘relationship’. Q was evidently looking for somebody – it was written into every line of him – and Bond needed some form of security.

They fucked like the world was burning, and somewhere outside, it probably was.

Q knows that Bond will never love him, and he is perfectly comfortable with that. Q had never expected to be with somebody who loved him; more, somebody who tolerated him, who could possibly bear him.

“… and do try to bring the equipment back in one piece…”

Bond cannot help but smile, because this is his Q, this is everything Q will be and always has been.

Bond knows that Q could well fall in love with him, and is perfectly comfortable with that, for now. It will not be alright forever. In fact, it will barely be alright for the next six months, but for whatever time they can manage, it will be whatever they can make it.

It is two years before they crumble. Bond is surprised but not upset; they had lasted longer than he could have hoped for.

Q asks to meet at the National Gallery, because it is a neutral space, and because they cannot row in a space designed to be quiet. He does not go to the Turner.

They amble there, entirely by accident, as Q explains that he is tired, that he is sorry, that they just are not working any longer.

“… and I don’t want to stop being close to you, but…”

Bond nods. There are no real words to be wasted; Q is resolved, and Bond will not be able to change his mind. Bond has never, nor will ever, be able to change Q’s mind on a thing he has decided.

It’s alright.

It is amicable. Calm. Quite unlike Bond. Q had expected fireworks, and has been met with nothing at all. It makes  _Q_  angry, to matter so little that he couldn’t ignite even the slightest suggestion of hurt in Bond, and he does not understand that Bond’s hurt is not red hot, but white. It is intense and blinding, and sometimes silence is all he can do to contain it.

“I’ll never forget the first time we met,” Q says absently, glancing towards the painting, the damned painting.

Bond’s lips twitch in the faintest of smiles. “Nor will I,” he replies quietly. “Upstart little shit.”

Q laughs, a sad thing. “Indeed.”

They stay for a moment. “Goodbye, Quartermaster,” Bond says, so softly Q almost misses it, and walks away without looking back.


	803. Chapter 803

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Q isn’t really afraid of flying. He’s actually afraid of going anywhere outside of London. Bond finds this out the hard way. – anon

Q was screaming. Honest to god, loud, wrenching screaming.

“… you have to calm down…”

“Take me back, you take me back  _right fucking now_  do you hear me James  _fucking_ Bond,” he shrieked, batting at Bond wildly, almost grabbing the steering wheel which would have almost certainly led to a rather messy car crash. “ _BOND_.”

After a point, it seemed wise to just do as he was told, but on the middle of a motorway it was necessary to wait for the next exit. “Q, stop batting at me,” Bond snapped, and instead veered onto the hard shoulder with perhaps unnecessary aggression. “What is it?”

Q was hyperventilating.

“… Q?”

“I… can’t.”

 _Yes, I gathered that much_ , Bond thought acerbically. Instead: “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Can’t leave London,” Q spluttered out, before keening in panic. “Please. Please, please, take me back, take me back  _right now_.”

Bond let out a slow breath. “Yes, I will, but I want you to calm down first – I need to go further out before we go back, the next exit is in about five minutes if I drive fast enough, then a roundabout or two. Yes?”

Q had buried himself into a tight ball. “Get me back.”

“So this is it – not that you don’t like flying, but…”

The concept of flying very nearly made Q throw up; he retched violently instead, causing Bond to instinctively jerk back. “Alright then, I won’t talk about it any more, I’ll just…”

“ _Stop fucking talking right now_.”

Bond duly stopped talking. “I’m going to keep driving.”

“I don’t give a fuck, when I lift my head I want to be back in London.”

The moment the engine restarted, Q let out a frantic noise again, and looked ever more like he was likely to throw up. “Q…”

“ _I SAID STOP TALKING_.”

And thus, perfect silence until the next exit; the moment the indicator clicked, Q let out a steady breath, looking a little calmer, just a little bit. The tension riddling his body unstrung a notch or two. Bond kept driving.

It was only as they headed back towards London that Q seemed to be steadying his breath. “Tell me when we’re back.”

“Back where?”

“London, you fucking idiot.”

Fifteen minutes. “… we’re back.”

And – finally – Q began to uncurl.

Silence.

“So you’re scared of going outside London.”

“Agoraphobia, of a sorts,” Q explained, voice tremulous. “It’s not usually a problem, a little constrictive, but… but there we have it, I don’t go outside London and while thank you for trying a surprise trip I didn’t realise it would be outside London I would have warned you but it didn’t occur to me given, well, given that I thought you’d have figured out a little bit and I’m sorry James, I really am sorry…”

Bond pulled over again, stopped the engine, and pulled Q into a hug. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. “I promise. It’s alright.”


	804. Chapter 804

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love all your fics and prompts! Anyway, this one little (cute!) thing popped into my mind: Sometimes (but not always) Bond disappears after a mission. It seems not to have any pattern, but it’s always a hell trying to find him (in the end it’s always Bond coming out of his hiding place). But one time, someone happens to be passing by Q-branch after this happening, and sees Bond, sleeping in a chair with Q doing his job in his lap like it’s something that happens all the time. – anon

“And double-oh seven is…?”

“AWOL,” Eve said wearily, “as per. Hoping to have some sign of him within the next twenty-four hours, he usually reappears by then.”

M looked deeply unimpressed, but there was only so much he could do about it; nobody could ever trace Bond at the end of a mission, he went off radar for forty-eight hours, more or less on the dot, and that was the end of that.

It was manageable. Double-oh agents had a lot to handle; it was only fair that agents like Bond took some time to calm down afterwards. 001 usually stayed on the shooting range for hours at a time. 006 drank himself senseless. To each their own. Bond was the only one to go completely off the radar.

Life carried on. Eve and M finished their meeting, and Eve trailed her way down to Q-branch to chat to Q; there was a lot to do, a lot to organise, and Q had half of the briefs and had monitored Bond for the duration.

A brief tap on the door, and she walked straight in without invitation.

In doing so, she solved the age-old mystery of what precisely happened to James Bond after his missions.

“… thank you for that, he’ll be irate when he wakes up and knows you’ve found him,” Q mused, not stalling in his typing. “He hides down here for a  _reason_ , you know, mainly to avoid the perpetual curious glares.”

Bond was so sound asleep he didn’t seem to be aware of anybody talking; quite an achievement, in Eve’s book, given that Bond usually woke up at the slightest rasp of a footstep. “… he seems content,” she broached.

Q smiled, nodded very slightly; behind his glasses, his eyes were soft and unusually tender. “It’s somewhere safe,” he said simply, voice still calm, factual. “Everybody needs somewhere. Now, if you would?”

Eve nodded, and slid out, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could manage.


	805. Chapter 805

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! I’ve read a lot of prompts where Q is the one that really wants to marry, but could you maybe write a fic where Bond has been trying to get Q to marry him for a long time and finally convinces Q to do it? – anon

“… there’s legal reasons, as much as anything else…”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” Q interrupted, with a dash of irritation. “I get it, you care a lot – but that doesn’t explain the frank borderline obsession with the subject. Explain. You keep refusing to explain.”

Bond ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. Q was a bloody nightmare. An absolute bloody nightmare. “I don’t especially want to explain.”

“And I don’t especially want to get married.”

“Why.”  
“Why do you?!”

A noise of absolute aggravation. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“I gathered! What else?”

Bond blinked. “What do you mean, what else? Marriage. Commitment. It’s not an uncommon thing to want, I’m at an age where it’s fairly reasonable, and I’ve nearly died enough times to preserve the things in my life that matter…”

Q’s eyes narrowed. “Are you… James, are you insecure?”

There was a moment of silence. The question was more than amply answered.

“… no.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Q told him, a little more gently. “Honestly, James, I want to be with you. I love you. Why does marriage matter so much? Specifically marriage?”

Bond was silent. Q wondered, absently, whether or not he’d broken the man a little.

Further silence. Q was getting actively worried.

“Life is very short, very fragile. I was brought up knowing that I would find somebody I loved, and I would marry, have security. I don’t have anything of my own. Our flat is your flat, I moved in, invaded your space. My job is subject to change. My body is a tool for my job, I’m an orphan, friendship is a nonentity in MI6. Everybody I have loved is gone. You’re it. You are everything I have, and I am insecure, and I cannot lose anybody or anything else. I don’t have anything else left to lose.”

The silence this time was all Q’s.

“I forget,” he said, after a moment, very quietly. “I’m sorry. I forget how much you’ve… I forget, and I’m so sorry, James.”

A small nod. “Whatever time I have left, I want with you.”

Q nodded, slowly. “I can understand,” he murmured, and closed his eyes. Bond stayed still; he recognised the signs of Q thinking, truly thinking, delving into portions of his mind and unravelling options. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Q opened his eyes, fixed on Bond with an encouragingly genuine smile. “Okay. Let’s get married.”

Bond’s smile was a heartbreakingly lovely thing.


	806. Chapter 806

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi! I’m currently cat/housesitting, and have a terrible allergy to cats. I’m all puffy and sneezes, but hey, it’s for family friends, and it’s money. Could you please write Q being outrageously allergic too, but still looking after the various cats of the Qbranch staff because he just can’t say no? – inevitablepinholeburns

Q was pretty much ready to cry. Or call a cattery in which to invest every single penny he had ever earned to palm off the cats, the millions of cats, the ungodly hellish  _dozens_  of cats that had infiltrated his home and his life and were never going to go away which was a little fucking ironic given that he was terrifyingly allergic and hadn’t breathed through his nose in nearly three weeks.

Bond found it hilarious.

“You know, you could just refuse,” he suggested, ambling into the kitchen stark bollock naked to make coffee. Sniffles was sat in the kitchen chair. Bond picked him up, and discarded him towards the cat bowl, stopping briefly to pour in a new load of cat food.

The kitchen was abruptly filled with cats. Five, at last count. Q had no idea, any more. He didn’t care. He wanted them gone.

He also wanted Earl Grey. “Please?” he asked Bond, with a note of desperation; he smirked, and nodded, distanced from Q by a sea of cats who all absolutely adored Q, as it happened. “ _Get off_ ,” Q pleaded with Smudge, who was rubbing around his legs with passionate enthusiasm, and destroying the bottom of his suit trousers in the process. “Oh god, James, I can’t do this any more.”

“As I said: refuse.”

Q growled slightly, taking several steps from the cat, penned against his own sofa. “I can’t. They need me. I’m the only one locked into Q-branch, half of them are out supplying other agents and missions – I’m the permanent staff, and Tanner keeps all the dogs so it’s not like they can go there…”

“ _That’s_  where they go.”

“… and Eve has the snakes…”

Bond perked up a bit. “Does she now?”

“And tarantulas,” Q continued, with a dash of malice, enjoying how Bond’s interest turned into actual terror in the space of a word. “So don’t go visiting and abandon me with the cats. Could you clean the litter tray?”

Bond rolled his eyes. “You know just the right things to say.”  
  
“I felt so,” Q returned drily. “Please?”

Q was considering crying for dramatic effect, before Bond smiled, and handed him a mug of Earl Grey. “Go sit, I’ll handle the cats,” he soothed, kissing Q quickly on the forehead and avoiding stepping on Carmen’s tail.

With a whimper of gratitude, Q crumpled onto the sofa, tea in hand.

Miranda leapt onto his lap, and Q gave up altogether.


	807. Chapter 807

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is Q’s soulmate in a world where everyone has one. But Q is already with someone he’s very fond of and he doesn’t want to hurt him. So Bond has to watch Q being deeply unhappy but staying with his lover (who isn’t bad at all, just not made for him) – anon

“Oh  _bollocks_.”

Q was staring at Bond’s wrist, with a pale mortification that coloured Bond’s world instantly: he knew, he instinctively knew what Q had seen and what it  _meant_  if this was the scope of his reaction.

“You’re…”

In response, Q just held up his own wrist, and the patterning was there for all to see. Distinctive, unique, a perfect tattoo that Q took one look at and felt his soul wrench from inside him towards Bond.

There was no need to examine in detail. Bond looked at Q’s markings, and felt the same thing, two souls colliding and merging upon just a single look at the mimicked swirls of one another’s markings. “Your soulmate,” Q finished, on a whisper, rather belatedly. “Fuck. Fuck  _fuck_  fuck.”

“But…”

“The statistical probability of me actually  _finding_  my soulmate… and then… well, the universe is  _taking the sodding piss_  to actually be doing this to me… I don’t  _know_  enough people, I work in the  _secret fucking service_ , always been terrified a minion would be my soulmate but the  _chances_  I just, fucking _fuck_  what am I going to tell Andy…”

Bond blinked. “Andy?”

“My boyfriend, you idiot,” Q snapped. “My boyfriend of  _several years_  who I love with all my heart and… well, apparently  _not_  soul but heart, I love him, and I won’t hurt him, I won’t.”

The merged souls tore at one another, the warring absence, trying to escape with every fibre of their combined selves.

“But you’re my soulmate,” Bond repeated, with genuine disbelief. “How…  _how_ …”

“Well quite.”

The pair stared at one another.

“I can’t do that to Andy,” Q said quietly. “I’m sorry, Bond…”

“… James…”

“James,” Q duly amended, “but I do love him. Maybe there was a world where we were together forever and all that, but not here and now.”

Bond could only watch, as Q walked away.


	808. Chapter 808

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt to consider! Navy!AU where Bond and Q have been together for years, but during Bonds stay on the ship Q sends him a “Dear John” letter. Bond is heartbroken. A few months later Bond comes back to England (He’s been offered a position at MI6) and Q goes to him to apologize and plead for another chance. How Bond responds is up to you. (Though please no immediate forgiveness!) – anon

… I’m so sorry, please know that I…

Bond had glazed over a little, not quite able to make the words make sense; nothing made sense any longer, nothing was operating, but then was always the fear: it could not last, and distance took a toll, a constant toll, and they had both tried and – apparently – failed.

All the letters were in a bundle.

Bond took out a lighter, and watched them burn together.

-

MI6 was an odd but in no way unpleasant place; there was a good deal of bureaucracy, pedantry, annoyances and people scuttling. It was not as organised as the Navy, but then, Bond doubted anything would be as organised again in his eyes.

And so, he started trying to accustom himself to civilian-ish life, and eventually would adjust, because he had to; he would always have to, in the end.

Then he met his Quartermaster.

“James. Hi.”

Bond looked at him. Stared, actually. Just stared. There were no words; Q had done quite enough in the way of words the last time they’d spoken, the last letter where Bond had become just another John whose lover had gone and found somebody else. “… hi.”

“James, I…”

“You are Q, presumably?” Bond asked, emotionless. “Well done, you deserved a promotion.”

“James…”

“I’m sorry.”

Bond stiffened very slightly, but otherwise could not respond. Words refused to come.

“I made a mistake.”

A breath; this was unfair, stupidly unfair, that Q could still have this profound an effect. It had been months, bloody months. Bond should have recovered from the kneejerk pain and anger and jealousy that threatened to consume him.

Bond still had nothing to say.

“I still love you, James.”

“No,” Bond snapped, and frankly didn’t care how harsh he sounded. “You don’t get to do this. Goodbye, Quartermaster. I’m sure we’ll see one another again soon.”

Q was utterly white, as Bond walked out.

-

Encouragingly, Q didn’t keep trying to convince him. They just talked as professionals and colleagues, and it stabbed every time, and Bond figured it always would.

It was as time passed, and Q remained quiet and sad, that Bond began to reassess. To consider.

“A date.”

Q looked up very quickly, eyes wide, understanding immediately. “Are you sure?”

He was so, so beautiful.

“I can’t promise anything,” he warned. “But a date. Just a date.”

Q smiled a little shyly, and nodded.


	809. Chapter 809

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I please have Q shoving James against a wall and having his way with him, and James enjoying letting someone else take control for once? Thank you in advance, oh great ones – isthisrubble

Bond was late.

Very, very,  _very_  late.

Q had no time for lateness. Q had no time for grief, for worry, for waiting. The concept of it evaded him, the  _point_  evaded him. Q was not waiting, but Bond was late. So late that MI6 were tentatively broaching the subject of KIA and Q blithely ignored them; dropping hints was something Q found irritating at the best of times, let alone when suggesting his longterm boyfriend was dead.

No. Bond was just… late.

“… miss me?”

Q wheeled around, expression dark and light all at once. Angry at his protracted absence (and not calling ahead), and breathtakingly palpably  _relieved_  that he wasn’t dead even though he would have sworn on anything and everything that he had  _never_ believed Bond could be dead, of course not.

“You  _bastard_.”

“I…”

Bond couldn’t get another word out: Q slammed him against the wall, and kissed him a truly terrifying passion, heat and fire and somewhere transcending everything and just bringing into that single bizarre and brilliant moment, because Q was never like this, burning. He didn’t burn, he was  _ice_.

Not now.

Bond could feel his cock springing to immediate attention; Q was all over him, teeth and tongue, Bond reciprocating with abandon with Q all but growling against his mouth. “ _Bastard_ ,” Q repeated again, breath steaming in Bond’s mouth.

“I know,” Bond murmured, Q’s hands slid over him, rough and brutal and perfect. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

Bond’s eyes almost rolled back in his skull as Q palmed his erection, still with an edge of livid fury, but a moment of question: Bond nodded a small, slight amount, and Q continued with a purr of enthusiasm.

“Beg for me.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. Q squeezed; the noise Bond made was almost inhuman. “No.”

“ _Beg_.”

Honestly, Bond didn’t really have the will or time or stamina to argue too ferociously. “Please.”

“Please?”

“ _Please_ , Q.”

Q’s smile was wicked, gleaming, as he obeyed Bond’s wishes and played him quite perfectly into an orgasm that practically floored him.


	810. Chapter 810

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t already done so would you consider a prompt where James wakes up from a dangerous mission, but can’t remember the last few years. Q tells him they are married and Bond has no idea why this beautiful creature would agree to marry him. He’s convinced that he must have blackmailed Q or the young man is mentally unstable. Q is amused. – anon

Bond was at least vaguely sure he was dead. It was altogether not a pleasant experience, but could have been worse, given that a very beautiful young man was looming over his face.

“Hello.”

“’Lo,” Bond slurred, vaguely aware that he was slurring but really not overly concerned about it. Speech would come back eventually. It always did. Especially if he was dead. “An’ you’r?”

“Q,” the beautiful man replied.

Bond crinkled his face with confusion. “You’re not. Boothroyd is.”

“That was a while ago. You have amnesia, it would seem, or at the very least drugged out of your wits.”

A small shrug. Which hurt. “Ow.”

“Yep, gunshot, all sorts of damage. You really made an effort on this one, I’m impressed.”

“F’you’re Q, why’r you here?”

Q smiled very slightly. “Yes, well – we’re married, as it happens.”

Bond blinked. “What now?”

“Married. Look, ring and everything,” Q told him, showing his hand, watching Bond’s eyes widen comically. “I’m almost offended by how much of a shock this is.”

“But you’re… beautiful.”

Q’s shock was palpable and hilarious. “What now?”

“Beautiful. Why’re you with me?”

Q blinked. “Well… you’re fucking gorgeous, I… well, I’m in love with you, so…”

“Nah.”

This time, Q just burst out laughing. Bond had never made a sound like ‘nah’ in his life. “Yes, James, I promise you.”

“Ha. Blackmail.”

“What?”

“Bet I blackmailed you.”

Q’s expression moved to utterly confused. “What do you mean?”  
  
“To marry me.”

Once again, Q snorted with laughter. “Good god, you’re hilarious like this. I should be filming it, Eve would have a field day. James, just… relax. I’m going to call the doctor over to take a look at you, see if the amnesia’s temporary or not… hoping it’s not…”

“Me too.”

Q leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Bond’s forehead. “Back in a moment,” he said fondly, and vanished from Bond’s immediate sight, leaving Bond with a definite sense that he was very dead or very very lucky.


	811. Chapter 811

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> james drunk dials Q after he gets back from a mission gone wrong. please and thank you? – isthisrubble

Bond’s voice dribbled through, slurred and uncertain, and Q already knew what was happening.

On screen, 004 was ducking and diving through a market in Palestine, and Q was exhausted. Beyond exhausted, actually; it had been several days now, and there was no way of sleeping any more, all of it was work and running and dreadful, catastrophic losses that Q needed to handle, write up, report, defend, complete, bury, hide, destroy, kill, order the repetition of and Q was getting extremely tired of the number of deaths on his hands.

At least fourteen by proxy in the last week.

“… should’ve done better, I know…”

Bond had a remarkable ability to sound lucid while pissed off his face. “Bond, I cannot cope with this right now,” he told the agent, delegating an equally exhausted looking R to take over handling. She, at least, had managed a couple of hours of sleep in the previous few days. She was contracted to actually go  _home_  once in a while, or it was Q’s neck on the line. M’s neck was on the line for Q’s work hours, but Q could fiddle the system and M didn’t really have anybody who cared anyway, the Quartermaster was one of those jobs where they just did as they had to so the job got done and fewer people died.

Q would merrily sit through a lecture on his working hours. He would not do so to discuss the death of an agent, civilians, or anything else. Rather work too hard than let people die.

“… and you’ve…”

“If you even think about blaming me for any of this, I’ll cut your dick off,” Q snapped, attracting a few eyes; Q stalked into his office, slammed the door, and heard Bond saying something, doing something, down the phone at him and Bond was absolutely on his final legs here. Q was going to kill him. “Bond, that is enough.”

“You…”

It was all it took, and Q was away, screaming blue murder at the man who dared t suggest he was doing anything other than everything he could.

“And I fucking  _hate this job_  sometimes…”

“ _SO DO I_.”

Both of them were silent. Q was dimly aware that he had collapsed against the desk, exhausted, now crumpled in a heap with tears trickling down his cheeks that had somehow appeared without him noticing.

“God, I hate this job.”

Bond smiled, audibly, chuckled in a light way that made Q feel slightly less like he wanted to burn down most of Asia. “Me too, Q. I really do.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.”

Q snorted, a little wetly. “Fucking hell, Bond.”

“You have a terrible mouth on you.”

A moment. A hysterical laugh. “Want to bet?”

“I wasn’t being…”

“I know, James, I know,” Q said, still crying, still smiling, every inch of his skin and body prickling tiredness. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re overworked.”

“Go to bed.”

“You first.”

“ _Fuck you_.”

“Not if you’re not in bed,” Bond pointed out, and Q let out another, weaker chuckle. “I phoned to complain at you, and you hijack…”

“Don’t make me scream at you again.”

A moment of quiet. Then, far softer: “Go to bed, Q.”

Q closed his eyes, feeling his body slide down the side of the desk, curling up on his own floor and reaching for his earpiece. “I am. You too,” he mumbled, and clicked it off, hoping to hell Bond actually did what he was told and slept for a while.


	812. Chapter 812

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do me an AU where Q and James are lovers and maybe James is a football/rugby player and some homophobic fans of his see them out whilst having dinner. Whilst James has gone to pay the bill, Q goes outside to wait for him and the fans beat him up. James comes out and stop them. Maybe Q end up with severe epilepsy and James decides to come out and the police find the fans? Thank you so much and so sorry it’s long Dx – anon

Q was in hospital, and would be for a while, and Bon was absolutely homicidal about the entire affair.

“You will find them,” Bond was telling the police, and they were listening; apparently being famous afforded him some necessary clout when discussing what to do with his badly beaten-up boyfriend who was now having intermittent fits and Bond had  _never been angrier_. “And get them arrested for GBH, he…”

The officer in charge held up a placatory hand. “We’ll do our best, Mr Bond. Bear in mind though, these things take time…”

“… what, time while Q tries to recover and they attack someone else?”

“Please do not get angry with us, we’re trying to help,” she remained him, with a slight edge. “Look after him, and we’ll look after this end of things. Remember: we don’t want this to happen again either.”

Bond nodded once, curtly, and the police officer took her leave.

Q was asleep, which was something of a mercy. Apparently, the head trauma had triggered epilepsy; now, they were going to have to be aware of it for the rest of Q’s life, probably medication, but that would wait a few days to be confirmed.

Bond already knew what he wanted to do, but just needed Q’s permission. And, preferably, his involvement.

-

“My partner has been beaten, left for dead, by people who were passing by – people who, according to his report,  _are supporters of ours_.”

Bond’s teammate Alec cleared his throat, and leaned in; Bond allowed him to speak. “I want to state, emphatically, that we are all supporting James and Q in this time, and we are utterly disgusted with anybody involved with this incident. I would urge those with information to come forward to the police at the first possible opportunity.”

“ _Homophobia in the sporting world is not a new phenomenon…_ ”

The reporters peeled off to finish, the conference over. Bond had done dozens in his time, but this was his first with a collection of teammates, having to express to the world at large that he was openly gay and openly would  _destroy_  anybody who harmed his partner.

“James, you need to calm down.”

Bond glanced to Alec, who watched him with the slightest, saddest of smiles. An attempt at comfort which Bond almost appreciated.

“He could have died.”

Alec nodded, shrugged very slightly. “But he didn’t. Now, we get the bastards who did it. That’s what matters, that and Q himself. Shouldn’t you be back at the hospital?”

“Come with me,” Bond ordered him – and it was definitely an order, the tone brooked no refusal – and Alec rolled his eyes. “Moral support. And Q will want to see you.”

Alec smirked, standing up a little straighter. “I should damn well think so. Lead on, Mr Bond.”

The police officer skated to Bond’s side. “Thank you,” she said, with a nod to them both. “This is good, exposure is fantastic. You did a really good thing. I’ll keep you updated with anything.”

“Anything,” Bond repeated, confirmation, and waited for her answering nod.

She vanished again, and Bond let out a slow breath, controlled.

Soon.

They would find the bastards soon.


	813. Chapter 813

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt! A random agent/minion/someone whom Q knows vaguely well dies because of some random reason like a car accident or heart failure while sleeping. Basically, their death is completely unexpected and comes right out of the blue and Q, who is used to agents dying on field, suddenly finds himself completely unable to deal with it. He actually goes to shock after he hears the news and realizes the person really is dead (which is the part I’d like to read about). Thanks for all the fics! <3 – anon

Q couldn’t really compute what was going on.

Life had slowed to a complete standstill, and Q didn’t even understand why. It made no sense; agents died all the time, people died all the time. Q’s life was filled with death, from the agents he cared for to the incidentals and civilians and enemies and everybody, a million people died all the time around the world and he was responsible for a good number of them.

But Adam, no. Adam shouldn’t have been dead.

For Adam to be dead, the world had to be a very different place, and not one Q wanted. And so he stayed breathlessly quiet, unable to think, his breath coming harshly in his lungs.

“Sorry, Adam’s…?”

Matilda was sobbing on the line, evidently destroyed by the news. They had been good friends. Q still was good friends. He had been good friends with Adam, too, but he was away from MI6 and deserved life more than Q knew how to express, it was  _Adam_ , who had died when a van careened off the road and into him.

Q closed his eyes. “Thank you for letting me know,” he murmured, his voice not sounding like his own. “I’ll be over later, I just need… I can’t think, Matti, I just can’t… I need to make this make sense then I promise I’ll be right over.”

“Carly’s with me now,” Matilda told him. “I think a few of us are… I mean you don’t have to come, it should be alright if you don’t… I mean you have James…”

“He’s out of the country,” Q told her, still not quite feeling or understanding his own damn voice. It was a different person.

 _Adam_.

Matilda let out a small, sad  _oh_  on his behalf. “Like I…” a small moment, while she lost her composure, sobbed openly. “I-it would be nice to see you, if you’re…”

“Okay,” Q murmured. “Okay. Look, Matti, I need to go – I’ll let you know what’s happening, I…”

“I know,” she whispered back, voice utterly shattered. “I know.”

The dial tone.

Q rocked back in his chair. He stayed there for a long while, not sure how long, it didn’t really matter. Somebody knocked on his door, and he ignored it. When R rang his buzzer, he answered it, told her in neutral tones that he had just discovered a close friend had died, and she bleated condolences and hung up.

Tears fell down Q’s face in total silence.

Eventually, Q acknowledged he should probably go home; he wasn’t fit for anything in this state, really needed to go and think and understand why of all people, of  _all people_ , this was the death to rock him right into the core of his being.

Four civilians had been reported dead in the previous twenty-four hours. All the blood on Q’s hands. This was nothing he could have changed, stopped, controlled in any way or form, and Q started to think that was it: he couldn’t have done anything.

Q would not remember the train home, afterwards. He would remember nothing. He made a cup of tea. Put the TV on when the silence became a little too much. Ignored everything he was watching.

Oh god, Adam.

In the strange half-populated strangeness of his flat, Q started to cry.


	814. Chapter 814

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I was wondering if I could ask for something fluffy 00q, maybe h/c where Q is completely overwhelmed with his workload and James tries to help by turning their guest room into an office or taking care of housework or something that makes Q’s life just a bit easier? – anon

Q walked in, exhausted, to find the house bizarrely tidy.

It was never tidy.

There was also the distinct smell of washing powder; in the living room, a dryer was set up with all the clothes Q hadn’t yet managed to clean, his and Bond’s, the ones that had been crumpled in the laundry basket since the beginning of time, as far as Q could work out. He was on his last cardigan these days.

But, it looked like everything had been done.

Good lord, he could smell chicken and everything.

“… James?”

Bond poked his head out from the kitchen. “Hello. Everything alright?”

“Yeah… what’s… I mean, did you…?”

“You’re overworked, and I’m on leave,” Bond called from the kitchen, the shrug audible. “So I thought I’d deal with the house. Go sit down.”

Q blinked, still standing in the entrance. “But…”

“Nope, sit down. I’ll bring dinner to you in a bit.”

“But…”

“Sit!”

Q was honestly very tired, and didn’t want to argue. So without all that much hesitation, he did what he was told and sat, debating heavily whether or not to bring out his laptop and continue with the ferociously large quantities he still had to do.

Bond re-emerged briefly, dropped a kiss onto Q’s head. “Don’t even think about working.”

“Bit late for that.”

“Then stop,” Bond told him simply, and slid out the room again. “Ketchup?”

Q let out a very strangled sound. He’d been living on microwave meals, but that didn’t mean ketchup wasn’t one of his weaknesses in the world. “I love you.”

Bond brought out two plates of food, balancing ketchup in the crook of his elbow. “You’re still a heathen, but you’re a tired one, so I’ll let you off.”

“Thank you,” Q managed, grasping for the plate, still absolutely stunned by the impeccable state of the flat. “I can’t believe you did all this, I have to make it up to you somehow…”

Bond halted him with a hand on his, Q stopping mid-sentence. “Don’t. Q, you have a lot of work, and you can’t try and do housework on top, you’ll go mad.”

“But…”

A kiss, and Q was putty. It was Bond’s favourite trick: if all else failed, kiss Q, and he would be rendered Bond’s quite completely. “’kay,” he mumbled, looking deeply contented around the edges. “Cool. Excellent. No housework, and nice food. I love you, James Bond.”

Bond smiled, a little sideways. “I love you too. Now eat.”

Q made a childish pretend-grasp for the ketchup. Bond rolled his eyes, and passed it over, muttering _heathen_  under his breath just to watch Q smile.


	815. Chapter 815

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song prompt for 00Q if you have time: All Around Me by Flyleaf. I keep thinking about them when I hear it. – anon

Bond cannot live a great deal, in the world he has. He knows that. Bond has known that for longer than most realise; from a very young age, from being orphaned even, he knew full well that he would never have a true ‘life’ in the way others did.

After all, rage lives in Bond like it does in few others. Rage livid and hot.

Q makes him feel truly loved, truly and utterly.

Vesper was the only other.

(the grief lives still, a hated horrid thing)

“Are you alright?”

Q’s voice snaps through the murk of Bond’s thoughts. He isn’t disposed to undue musings, as a rule; he prefers to let life continue and take moments as moments come.

Then there is Q, who feels worlds tingle and knows how to counter them, absorb them, use them. He is not hot livid anger, but quiet calculation, like the computers he all but worships: analytical and trailing, electric quick but never overheated, never quite burning.

The wound Vesper left is gradually healing, scabbing over, peeling away to leave fresh pink skin that will scab, certainly, but at least Q gives him oxygen. “Fine,” he manages, a long time after the question, Q watching him with vague amusement.

“You don’t seem it,” he points out, flippant, without too much probing while makes a nice change from most things. Q is usually hilariously over-inquisitive.

Bond waits a moment and smirks a bit at Q, who just shrugs.

“You get arsey when I ask too many questions.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Q raises an eyebrow. “What on earth for?”

“Everything.”

There is an odd moment. Q seems to be vaguely trying to establish what precisely Bond means, and then manages a smile, a beautiful and glorious smile, the smile that reminds Bond of everything he loves in Q in the first place.

“You really don’t have to thank me.”

A shrug. “Oops.”

Bond can breathe. Bond can  _live_. It is a strange sense.

Vesper’s lips shadow over him, red and hot and comforting and loving, her eyes slim and dark-rimmed, a sarcasm that Q oddly also has and that is  _not_  to say that Q is anything like her because he is  _not_ , in any sense. Well, some, but then there are many traits all humans share and Bond cannot help but feel his thoughts cast comparisons and pray he has not done the ultimate wrong of just substituting one for the other.

“James, you’re hilariously spacey today.”

Bond blows out a breath. “Can’t stop thinking.”

Q snorts. “You never think.”

Bond laughs. “True.”

Q rolls his eyes, and moves himself to Bond, scooping him into a tight embrace. “Stop thinking,” he murmurs to Bond. “Stop thinking. You’re okay.”

 _I know_ , Bond thinks, and says nothing aloud.

He is alive, and it is beautiful.


	816. Chapter 816

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I absolutely love your work. Your talent is unbelievable! I was wondering if you could write 00Q where Q gets possessed by an artificial intelligence (maybe something that works like a virus). James starts noticing that he’s acting weird but puts it down to just work-stress, until it’s definitely not. James saves Q from enslavement to a computer and, if you could, Q’s reaction to the whole affair. Thank you. – anon

It was officially getting to the point of active strangeness.

Q was always a little bit odd, it had to be said, but this sheer  _level_  of oddness was definitely something new. Working hysterically, emotionally completely absent from any and all proceedings, rhythmical in a strange way, and an absent electricity in his eyes that seemed to glow intermittently with something simply  _wrong_.

It was the fourth day without sleep, Q’s body literally buzzing, and Bond reached out to touch.

The electric shock was definitely a surprise.

Q looked at him impassively. “I would suggest not touching me in future,” he commented, and returned to the computer.

There were wires snaking into him, sliding through his wrists, needlepoint holes in his forearms, a direct feed, and Bond abruptly noticed a spot of blood on the back of his shirt collar. Tiny, but then, Bond was accustomed to noticing the slightest of things.

He stood. Q’s attention was entirely on the computer, but his body still shivered in anticipation as Bond crawled closed, locking in readiness.

(Bond hoped to hell he wasn’t about to accidently kill his partner).

Bond pounced. Q deflected, and Bond could  _tell_  it wasn’t Q, he could just tell.

Q clearly didn’t anticipate that Bond would go for the electricity cables, rather than Q himself. Indeed, Bond could hear the screech of wires, abruptly becoming an audio screech that all but broke the speakers and hurt more than Bond had words to express, but he managed to wrench the power cable out of the computer, and while the computer tried very hard to process it, he started to wrench wires from Q’s body.

“Bond  _no_.”

It was in his mind, Bond could tell that. Q was still a skinny thing, and couldn’t begin to compete with Bond’s raw strength: Bond pulled back the collar to see the small metal  _thing_  buried in the top of Q’s spine.

“Q, tell me what to do.”

“No. Wait.  _Yes_. Bond, I can’t fight it, I don’t know how.”

“Try.”

“It’s  _in my head_.”

“I gathered that.  _Now,_  Q.”

Q started convulsing and speaking in unison, the noise had stopped without the power, and all there was, was the ringing still in Bond’s ears and Q’s screams as his body wrenched in and out of control desperately.

The metal skidded across the floor.

Bond shot it. Twice.

(The neighbours were going to kill him, let alone the landlady).

Q was still, barely breathing. Bond felt his pulse, found it reedy but present, a little tremulous. “Q?”

“I’m here,” he managed softly, throat sounding ripped raw.

A moment of quiet. Q started to pull himself over, slowly, as Bond watching and offered help Q refused to take.

“Okay,” Q murmured, before his voice turned aggravated and surprisingly cross. “What the  _fuck_  has been going on?!”


	817. Chapter 817

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s a brilliant writer and his editor Eve knows it BUT he’s god awful at writing sex scenes. She finds out it’s because he’s never had practical experience and sends her favourite thriller writer, who happens to owe her a huge favor, to go sex up her favourite boffin. – runemarks

Q was eloquent. Q was detailed, rich scenes with perfect imagery and spiralling thoughts, luscious.

Holy hell though, his sex read like an over-horny teenager with absolutely no experience.

Eve didn’t really know what to do about, initially. The subject of his dire sex sequences had come up several times throughout his career, but it hadn’t got substantially better. Now, he was attempting a fairly important sex scene and failing completely.

And so, Eve called the one person she knew who, without fail, wrote extraordinary sex scenes.

“… yeah, seduce him and teach him how to if you can, he’s abysmal.”

“How bad?”

“Schlong.”

Bond almost audibly winced. “Wow. Alright. Reckon he’s had sex before?”

Eve was quiet for a moment, thinking and considering. “Difficult to say, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Obviously I’m not suggesting you jump him the moment you see him…”

“I won’t,” Bond smirked. “Unless he’s throwing himself at me…”

“Remember the schlong.”

“… and that’s going in my next novel,” Bond laughed, Eve snorting herself. “Alright. How are we starting this?”

“Blind date. I’ve set it up already.”

“Cheeky shit.”

Eve tucked the phone onto her shoulder, messaging Q. “I know what you’re like, you see a chance and jump right to it – so yes, I assumed you wouldn’t be upset at the opportunity. Chinese?”

“I hate Chinese.”

Eve made a face, forgetting Bond couldn’t see. “He doesn’t. Might be more conducive for flirting.”

Bond let out a small groan. “Ask him what else he might like?”

“Booked.”

“I hate you.”

Eve laughed outright: “You won’t when you’re screwing a beautiful young man. Thank me later.”

Bond snorted, and hung up.

-

Q was definitely a beautiful young man. Good sweet lord. Precisely Bond’s type, as well: skinny, dark hair, lips looking freshly bitten, eyes a bright bottle green.

“Hi. I’m Q.”

“Bond, James Bond.”

-

And so it began.


	818. Chapter 818

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff prompt: Tipsy 00Q sex? Maybe they get giggly, maybe one of them is extremely uncoordinated when tipsy, or anything else you can think of. Thank you! – isthisrubble

Q all but toppled into Bond’s arms.

Bond was very used to alcohol, and hiding how drunk he was; missions often involved a good deal of alcohol, but Q didn’t have that aspect. He just had the alcohol he chose to have on weekends or days off, and it had to be said, he really did enjoy his days off.

Really, Bond  _adored_  them.

Q was painfully endearing. He slid, trickled, fell into Bond’s arms and kissed him with a sloppy adoration that Bond couldn’t help but find painfully sweet. “Are you alright?”

“Perfect,” he smiled, leaning into Bond’s embrace. “Oh yeah.  _Perfect_. D’you have the vodka?”

A laugh. “Yes, but I’m not sure you need any.”

“ _Aww_ ,” he mumbled. “Pretty please?”

Bond kissed him lightly, gently. “Q, I really don’t think you need any.”

“Fuck you, double-oh seven.”

“If you insist,” Bond returned, and kissed Q with a little more insistency; Q let out a whining desperate noise, and all but clawed at Bond’s front. Not his most elegant move, but then, Q wasn’t always one for elegance.

Bond nearly toppled over under the passion of Q’s kissing, which was how he knew he too was drunk.

Q pounced again, just as Bond came to the realisation.

Both toppled to the floor, and Bond avoided cracking his head by a half-inch.

“Q,  _Q_.”

Q stopped, glanced at him with his eyebrows furrowed cutely. “Yes?”

“We’re on the floor.”

Of course, Q’s grin was daft. “Yeah. Sex?”

Bond couldn’t help but vibrate with laughter. “Q, we’re on the floor – shall we get to the bed.”

Q considered it for a moment. “Nahhhhhh.”

“Yes.”

“ _Nahhhh_. Vodka?”

Bond blinked dizzily, prodding Q into sitting up; Bond’s own head started spinning a bit. “Bed. Water.”

Q pouted.

Bond rolled his eyes. “If we go to bed, we’ll have sex. Yes?”

It was a good bargain; Q would pass out long before sex happened, the alcohol was continuing to buzz him with every second that passed, and Bond could definitely do with going to bed and sleeping off what would turn out as a wicked hangover, seemingly.

“Yep,” Q said brightly, and staggered to standing. “Perfect. Sex. Perfect. Shall we?”

Bond managed to stand, supporting Q as much as he could. “Excellent,” he mumbled, feeling a little bit heady.

Very heady.

The pair made a very awkward and very long journey to the bedroom.

Q, predictably, passed out almost instantly.

Bond arranged his and his own limbs in a neat little puddle, spooning him carefully, feeling Q mewl with joy.

“Night,” he whispered.

Q was already asleep.


	819. Chapter 819

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q doesn’t really like body hair and prefers to keep all of his body shaven clean. He’d never ask his partners to groom for him, but on a special occasion like an anniversary or something, Bond shaves his crotch bare as a surprise gift and Q jumps that dick the second he sees it. Thanks! <3 – anon

It had never really started, it was something that had simply always been. Q disliked body hair. Legs, arms, pubic - it was a simple aesthetic that he did not enjoy. From puberty onwards he had maintained a strict shaving routine, (waxing was always a little too painful), and it would mean he would have to allow the hair to grow to an unattractive length.

Bond was a natural blond through and through, which did help matters. His hair was light and far less noticeable than previous partners.

At least, it normally was.

Currently James Bond stood in front of him, boxers around his ankles sporting a completely shaven figure.

Q let out a spectacularly unattractive noise of lust - something between a moan and a warble.

“You like it then?” Bond purred, stepping out of his pants and towards Q.

Q just about managed to nod. Bond was rather well endowed and the lack of hair only highlighted it. Q could feel blood rushing downwards, his underwear tightening instantaneously. “I…”

“Happy birthday.”

Another strangled sound. “Bloody  _hell_.”

Bond laughed, glancing up and down Q’s body, lingering on his crotch. “You really  _are_  enjoying it,” he commented in a low purr, sidling closer, making Q take on a very intriguing colour as his face flushed violently pink.

“Oh  _fuck_ ,” Q mumbled again, and pounced, rather uncoordinatedly, straight at Bond’s lips.

Bond had no time to react before Q was merrily feeling around him, groping him without apology. “Q, calm down.”

“ _No_.”

Another laugh, and Q was whining with want as he felt over Bond’s groin, Bond growing hard in his hands, soft and so incredibly  _smooth_.

“This is… thank you,  _thank you_. You didn’t have to…”

“I know,” Bond hushed, with another kiss. Lingering, enough to make Q melt in his hands. “It’s fine. It’s  _good_ , in fact. Although, when it comes back prickly like yours does…”

“I’ve  _said_ I’m sorry for that, and I didn’t ask you too…”

Another kiss. A very deliberate attempt to shut Q up which happened to work like a charm; Q conceded defeat in favour of continuing to grope, stripping in record-breaking time to press against Bond, tug him into the bedroom and crawl into the bed, purring with delight as Bond slid in to join him, soft skin against his own, gorgeous.


	820. Chapter 820

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a fluffy/silly prompt. I am a lover of The Ramones. I want Q to come home and find James wearing only jeans and thrashing around to The Ramones loudly on the disc player and being comepletely shocked. or whatever. James being a bit shy and embarrassed by him being watched and found out. a secret he kept for himself, so he wouldnt lose that part of him. too weird? you guys rock as writers .. so jealous. – tomhardyschef

Q blinked. Blinked again.

Bond was oblivious, of course. Bond was too busy bouncing around like a madman with a spatula in hand, the music bouncing off the walls and his voice merging with the singer.

Vaguely, Q recognised the Ramones. It had been  _ages_  since he’d heard any of their stuff.

Apparently, Bond was more of a fan.

Q couldn’t help but just snort with laughter; he looked so wonderfully  _silly_. True, he was evidently cooking – brownies, if Q wasn’t very much mistaken – but the ungodly loud music and general overexcitement, not to mention that he was half bloody naked.

Bond was absolutely gorgeous, though, it had to be said.

He noticed Q all of a sudden, and Q could literally see the blood draining from his face; he seemed to turn a strange type of green, in fact, immediately darting to the player and snapping the music off. “Shit.”

“Shit?”

“You saw.”

“You  _never_  swear. Really? This is what gets you?”

Bond was just gesticulating, somewhat helplessly. Q had never seen him look quite so very  _lost_. “Nobody’s ever… I mean, it’s not exactly…”

“What a usual double-oh agent would do?” Q completed, trying very hard not to continue laughing; he got the impression Bond would die of shame if he did. “No, but it doesn’t matter, you seemed happy?”

Bond lifted the spatula. “I was making you brownies,” he said apologetically, looking between said spatula and Q with general meekness.

Q was beginning to wonder if his boyfriend had been swapped in the night. “I gathered that.”

“You like them, and I had a day off…”

“James, as a point of interest, why are finding this quite so shameful?” Q asked, with genuine curiosity. “There’s no problem. You enjoy music.”

Bond blinked. “I’m dancing around topless with a spatula, forgive me for being self-conscious.”

Q finally snorted, unable to contain himself any longer. “Look, it’s hilarious, but it’s not a  _problem_. You’re happy, I’m happy.”

Bond nodded slowly, still looking utterly dazed.

Q raised an eyebrow. “You can put the music back on, if you like?”

Somewhat sheepishly, Bond smiled.

The music was still deafening as it started back up, and Q pulled Bond into a dance, feeling him relax as he was wholeheartedly accepted.


	821. Chapter 821

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I’m going to London soon and am very very excited to get a holiday on my own, and would like to request a prompt, please?? Bond is having the worst day and is incredibly angsty, upset, in a downright black mood, goes to Q Branch and sees Q, who is in the happiest mood on Earth, smiles at him and his day is just instantly good. (too long and specific maybe…? sorry…) xxxxxxxxx – optimisticstorm

Bond genuinely couldn’t have been having a shitter day.

A terrible mission, a flight with mostly turbulence, jetlag from hell. Bond was exhausted, angry, disappointed, and just upset in a very all-consuming way; he didn’t want to think any more, and was heading down to Q-branch in the vague optimistic hope that Q would alleviate  _some_  of the blackness that seemed settled in his chest.

Q-branch was filled with happy minions. Everybody seemed in a sickeningly good mood; Bond snagged R, who was smiling delightedly. “What’s happened?”

“A  _very_  good hack job deflected, and a few other good job-things. Oh, and Q released a happy-something-aerial-dispersion-thing and everybody’s happy. No giggling though, not this time.”

Bond remembered the giggling. Q hadn’t stopped for about forty-eight hours; he had been trying very hard to manage a serotonin and general happy-spray – Bond had no clue what he’d put in it – to generally lift any given mood to a controlled extent.

It had passed, Bond assumed; he couldn’t feel any lightening of his own mood, still angry and hurt and very alone. “Is Q occupied?”

“Nope, come on in,” Q called, poking his head round the door, and Bond just caught a glance.

Q was radiantly happy. He was beautiful, bright, eyes glinting perfectly and happily and everything of him was bubbling over with joy that Bond took one look at, and happy-spray or not, felt his entire soul clear in a heartbeat.

Bond couldn’t believe he was fortunate enough to be with a man like Q, a man whom one smile from could alter his entire being.

He slid into Q’s office, to find Q bouncing around like a mad thing; he saw Bond, and jumped at him, kissing him lightly. “Hi,” he murmured brightly. “How’re you doing? I know it was a… difficult mission…”

“Don’t remind me,” Bond asked seriously, and kissed Q again, before the darkness could return to throttle him. “Sorry – don’t want to think about it. You’re happy. R mentioned…”

Q nodded delightedly. “It works! I’d offer you some, but I don’t want to use it as a sort-of depression lifter thing, could get very addictive, now I’ve worked out how to make it work properly I can start working out how to use it responsibly, that’s going to be an important aspect of anything like this, and can I get you anything love?”

Love. Q only rarely called him that, and it made Bond’s heart thrum whenever he did; he found it both disconcerting, wrong, and brilliant all at once. It felt  _right_ , somehow. It was a domestic nod that Bond had so little exposure to that it became all but confusing, if he was being completely honest.

“I love you.”

Q looked at him with palpable shock.

Both stared at one another. Bond couldn’t quite believe he’d said it.

“I love you too,” Q said softly, still with the tender smile he reserved only for Bond, and reached out a hand; Bond took it, kissed the topside lightly – a brush of lips, an acknowledgement – and let him go, let him vanish into his job to be the extraordinary creature he always had and always would be.


	822. Chapter 822

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you possibly write Q having to receive an enema for medical reasons NOT sexual (maybe he’s been poisoned with something and that’s the only way to get it out of his system?) and 007 administering it at home so he’ll be more comfortable as they’re in a relationship anyway? – anon

There was nothing that could be done. There were no alternatives.

“This is quite possibly the least dignified thing I have ever done,” Q mumbled. “Jesus, and I thought sexual-related… actually, forget that I was speaking, ignore that sentence. Good god. Just get this over with please.”

Bond was trying to be as supportive as possible, whilst aware that  _yes_ , it was definitely a less-good thing. In fact, it was a horrible bloody thing. For both of them, if he was being completely honest.

Q lay on his side.

Bond let out a breath.

“Why am I doing this again?” Q whined. “Really?!”

“It has to be done. It’s this or hospital, and you’re scared of hospitals. Get a grip.”

Bond was taking the hard line; it was him having to administer the sodding thing, so Q whinging was not in any sense something that he wanted to deal with on top of the general unpleasantness.

A breath, and he began.

-

“Well,” Q said, looking a little pale, a little wan round the edges. “Well then. That was…”

“… unpleasant,” Bond completed.

Q nodded. Bond nodded.

There is a type of silence that inevitably falls when something of that ilk occurs.

“I’m glad we kept you away from hospital,” Bond pointed out lightly. “Really, it’s better that then…”

“I know, and thank you, by the way.”

A smirk. “Delighted.”

Both of them snorted with laughter. “Absolutely delightful, yeah, that’s exactly how to describe it all.”

The tension deflated inch by inch.

“I love you, by the way.”

Q smiled. “I love you too. Thank you, James. Really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond replied, with sincerity, and pulled Q into a hug.


	823. Chapter 823

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some ballet 00Q, please?) With Q broke his leg and Bond comforting him – anon

Q was sobbing helplessly, and unsurprisingly so.

His career had just been put on hold for god-alone knew how long, if not forever; serious breaks would mean utter muscle atrophy, and it could be well over a year before he would be even close to the standard he had once been.

“I can’t do this,” Q sobbed. “I don’t want to deal with this, this is  _everything_  to me, James, dancing is my life, it’s been all of my life…”

Bond could only cradle him gently, and hush him as best as possible. “Love, you can’t let yourself think fatalistically. You don’t know yet, the doctors…”

Another strangled cry. “James, I  _do_. It’s  _dancing_. Breaks, leg breaks, they  _destroy careers_ , you  _know that_.”

Bond was not a dancer. He was a technician, deputy stage manager: he made everything come together on the night. Every single show, every single day, every night. He loved the dancers in the company very dearly, and Q had just been one of the ones he became particularly close to; when they had any backstage incidents, costume changes going wrong, injuries, set problems, it was Bond’s to deal with.

He loved his job. He couldn’t imagine not doing it.

Q, on the other hand:  he  _breathed_  his job. It truly was his oxygen, his raison d’etre, and Bond couldn’t imagine Q without dance.

“Focus on the rest of it – you can still improve, you can still keep training the rest of your body, keep fit. If all else fails the company will take you as a teacher, maybe choreography…”

“I’m nowhere near a good enough choreographer.”

Bond shrugged. “No, but think about how you could be in six months’ time,” he pointed out; Q stilled very slightly, still with tears trickling down his cheeks but marginally calmer, genuinely considering the prospect.

A small, sad sound: “I could have been the best.”

Bond took a deep, slow breath. “I know,” he replied, as gently as he could. “I know you could, but Q – these things happen. If you completely stop trying, you’ll never get anywhere better. It’ll be a lot of work, but you could manage it. If anybody could manage it, you could. Don’t rule out professional dance work. It’s not over yet.”

“I know.”

Hopefully, he would start to believe it soon, Bond thought quietly to himself, and just held onto his sobbing partner, trying to hold him together entirely.


	824. Chapter 824

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I get a prompt where Q is a traitor but Bond thinks he is protecting Q/saving Q from a false interrogation? – anon

Bond and M were yelling at one another.

More accurately: both were passive-aggressively throwing comments as both got progressively more irked and eventually the passive-aggressive became actively aggressive. Neither were the type to actually shout, ever, but yelling was not quite either of their MOs.

“It’s  _Q_.”

“Yes, and it is standard MI6 practise, under the circumstances…”

Q, meanwhile, was sat happily in the interrogation room waiting for action. He was mildly annoyed at having been caught in the first place, but he had a good deal of confidence in Bond’s ability to deal with M; he wouldn’t be tortured, not badly anyway. Roughed up a bit probably, but Bond would intervene before escalation.

So, of course, the door opened and round one of goons entered. “Hello gentlemen,” Q said quietly, manipulating himself carefully into sounding, looking, utterly vulnerable. “I’m guessing there’s some form of accusation…?”

A sharp slap, which was answer enough.

Q closed his eyes and let it all happen, reduced to nothing more than whimpers (or it would certainly seem thus).

Bond abruptly entered, scooping Q up into his arms carefully, avoiding any visible injuries. There were very few. The goons had been very gentle with him, all things considered, bearing in mind that Q looked like a twelve-year-old when he had no glasses and was trying very hard to  _look_  fragile.

“Have they gone?” he asked, voice cracking slightly.

Bond breathed kisses into his hairline, and Q only felt very slightly guilty. “They’re gone,” Bond promised. “They won’t touch you again, I’ve spoken to M. They all know…”

“They’ll be back. James…”

A half-breath, whispered into Q’s ear. “I know. I’m getting you out.”

Q blinked.

That much, he certainly had not seen coming. It was  _massive_  for Bond. He was going to commit treason for the man he loved with no real understanding that the man he loved was a traitor himself.

It was impossible to feel guilty. Q had been a traitor for so long that guilt was a foreign concept; he betrayed his country and his love and his everything every few days and weeks, every hour even. This was only another to add to the list.

“You can’t.”

“Watch me,” Bond returned. “Can you stand?”

Q managed it, perhaps being a little melodramatic with the trembling, but honestly he didn’t care enormously. Bond was putty.

They started to move towards the door, at which stage the lights went off with a sudden snap.

M’s voice:

“ _Both of you are now being held for treason. Please step away from one another, or we will neutralise you both_.”

“Shit,” Q muttered, before pressing his cygnet ring against the doorlock; it fell open instantly, leaving Bond to gape. “James, I am so sorry. So, so sorry about this.”

A blink.

Bond didn’t seem to realise what was going on until the door closed in front of him, leaving him locked inside the cell with Q travelling off into the wide blue yonder.


	825. Chapter 825

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q - Q is an employee at a casino Bond’s got a mission at. Insert random drunk guest getting a bit too handsy with poor Q and Bond deciding this employee is way more interesting than the mission. – thundress

Casinos had a tendency to be terrible places for wandering hands and unpleasant edges to the words and thoughts.

“… Alright, try that again and I will cut your hands off,” a blackjack dealer was saying ferociously, to a young man who seemed to be all over him. “Don’t make me ask again. Security are already coming over.”

Bond couldn’t help but stare at the dealer; he was a beautiful young man, absolutely beautiful. Slim, dark hair, eloquent fingers as he worked with the cards, eyes a bright and lovely green; he glanced up at Bond, clearly still livid at the drunk man, and seemed utterly hostile.

And so, Bond got involved a heartbeat before security did.

The man had no warning before being plucked away from Q, and unceremoniously deposited far enough away that he could do no further damage or insult. “Leave him. He doesn’t want you, mate.”

“Fuck you,  _mate_.”

The man was snarling to his feet, just in time for security to sweep in, all body armour and strength to chuck him completely out; mercifully, the man didn’t make too much drama, and the evening realigned and continued as it should.

Bond turned his attention to the dealer, who was unoccupied for a moment; no punters would return until the general hubbub had died down.

And so, he absentmindedly shuffled, and Bond watched him impassively.

“What’s your name?” Bond asked lightly.

The man – almost a boy, he looked so young – glanced up. Blinked.

“I’m not going to molest you.”

The ice broke instantly as the boy laughed; he stopped the fidgeting with the cards to pay attention to Bond. “I’m Q. You?”

“That’s not much of a name.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Well, oops,” he replied sarcastically, with a gorgeous British accent; there weren’t all that many Brits out in this part, it was quite nice to stumble across one. “And you are?”

“Bond. James Bond.”

A small dip of the head from Q. “And that’s just a silly name.”

“Silly?!”

Q laughed outright, and good lord but his voice was lovely, a bit like tinkling glass.

Bond berated himself. Way too much alcohol.

“Definitely silly,” Q smiled. “What’s a Brit doing over in this neck of the woods?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. I’m just on holiday.”

Q looked him up and down. Palpably didn’t believe him. Smart boy.

“Family live out here, and I needed work,” Q shrugged.

Bond looked him up and down. Didn’t believe him.

Smart man.

“Delighted to meet you,” they both agreed, and settled down to chat, martini in Bond’s hand and a deck of cards in Q’s, betting and talking the night away.


	826. Chapter 826

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! :) I’ve been reading your prompt fills for a very long time and now it’s the first time for me submitting a prompt myself. Could you write some 00Q based on the song “Relief” by Sixx AM? Could be either Bond or Q who it applies to, your choice. That would make my week xx – wickedsymphony

Q’s mental health was completely abysmal. It had to be said, Bond’s wasn’t much better – he was a definite alcoholic, with many separate and distinct PTDS-related symptoms – but Q was bipolar, and everybody around him knew it.

Manic was a term that meant Q’s work was truly extraordinary, his work becoming quick and frankly excellent, before abruptly toppling well over the edge and started seeing stars in a terrifyingly literal way.

“Q, you need to stop.”

Medication could only go so far. His brain had broken through the medication he had, a change was needed, and now he had to try and change up things to stop the fact he couldn’t stop his thoughts racing completely out control. There was nothing he could do, not on his own.

A moment stopped and the thoughts raced, Bond’s hand around his face, waiting patiently for eye contact.

Q looked up at him. Held him, allowed him, had no apologies and could handle it. “You alright there?” Bond asked conversationally.

It took a moment: “Yes,” Q replied, uncertainly, a moment or two later. “Yes, I’m alright. Sorry about that, still a bit out of it but I’m getting there, I…”

“Did you take your meds?”

Q grimaced slightly, but nodded. “I  _like_  this though…”

“I  _know_ , but if you go too far again…”

“I know,” Q replied, quiet and honest. “I’m sorry. It’s just… hard. It’s really hard, James.”

It was difficult for both of them. Difficult for Q – who wanted so badly,  _so badly_  to feel alive – and Bond, who had to try and calm the storm as it blew itself into its very own hysteria. “I love you to pieces,” he told Q lightly. “I love you, more than anything. More than anything.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Bond shrugged. “Yes, but I’m your idiot, and I’m just trying to help.”

Q buried his face into Bond’s shoulder, and held on like hell.


	827. Chapter 827

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey dears here’s a prompt. James and Q have this huge argument about something silly so Q decides to stay at Eve’s for the night. He gets in a taxi too upset to realise the driver is actually drunk but by the time he does, it’s too late and the taxi is smashed into. Paramedics arrive, Q demands for James but he gets there too late and Q is unconscious. When Q is discharged, he’s in a wheelchair and doctors don’t think he’ll walk again but James helps him learn. Sorry for prompt being so long! – anon

Q stumbled out, still in tears, and crumbled himself into a cab, mumbling an address through gritted teeth and collapsing back to cry to himself, not thinking fully about the drive itself but thinking very hard indeed about what exactly he was going to do with Bond when he eventually crawled himself home.

He didn’t know the crash had happened until he woke up.

Bond was sat at his bedside, head in hands, looking exhausted and unshaven. “James?”

Instantly, Bond was in action. “Q, you’re awake. Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

Q let out a small noise. “I’m very confused.”

Bond nodded, reaching out to his arm; Q’s eyebrows crinkled, unsure whether or not to be cross with him. “We had a row.”

“You had a car crash,” Bond parried. “You’re in hospital.”

“… bugger,” Q muttered. “That’s vexing. Damage? I can’t feel any pain which doesn’t bode well…”

“It’s your legs.”

Q immediately let out a breath. “Oh thank fuck it’s not my hands or fingers. How bad?”

“Not-sure-if-walking bad.”

Bond was taking it worse than Q; Q was a serious pragmatist. Walking could be dealt with, in the long run. “Okay. Well, shit. Shit.”

“That’s more along the lines of what I was expecting, reaction-wise,” Bond noted with a brief eye roll. “You’re going to be fine, we’ll get you through rehab and you’ll walk again. You were asking for me.”  
“When?”

“When the paramedics arrived,” Bond told him, with a small smile. “Wouldn’t listen to a damn thing anybody said, just demanded my presence and passed out.”

Q smiled dimly. “Good. I love you.”

Q was never so blatant. Ever. Bond mentally ran through the number of painkillers Q was on, in addition to being in shock, and let out a breath: he had no filters left. Bless him.

“I love you, too. We’ll get you sorted.”

Q smiled. “You’re here, and I have fingers. S’all good.”

“You won’t think that in the morning.”

A small look from Q, a raised eyebrow. “I’m going to nap before panicking. Don’t go.”

There was only the slightest of cracks in his voice, but it was enough: Bond held onto Q’s hand, rubbing circles over the palm, as Q fell back into a doze.

It would be alright.


	828. Chapter 828

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt for your consideration; “M’s orphans” are 00 agents who are saved and imprinted in data, allowing for those infamous resurrections in cloned bodies. Quartermasters are responsible for agent maintenance and safely restoring memories. In the wake of Skyfall, Bond has to deal with the weight of this imposed immortality all over again with a new Q and M. – 10for2

It was one thing to know one was immortal; it was another to understand what that meant. Immortality is measured best by the mortality of others - our friends, our lovers. People die, other people.

Not James Bond.

In his hand he contained all the data that was and would ever be Raoul Silva, or Tiago Rodriguez. Now just data - no body, no danger. One of M’s orphans. The man had probably backed himself up somewhere after his botched attempt to re-clone his previous body. Lying in wait, building a new body to inhabit, a bit like those fucking Harry Potter books.

Bond smirked to himself, sighed, and tossed the containers into the incinerator.

“Bond?”

New M.  Gareth Mallory. A good man, if not as good as the previous M had been; she had been around for several of his previous incarnations, and yes, he had trusted her insofar as he was able.

Bond hummed a response, as he walked back towards the stairs. “How can I help?”

“Have you debriefed with Q?”

“Going to Q-branch now.”

Synthetic bodies were an incredible experience; the perfection of hearing, sight, touch. Everything utterly as the human body  _could_  respond, the breathtaking intensity; it reminded Bond why he had sex so much. His body was tuned to it. Orgasms – something he would test the parameters of later, as he had with every incarnation, as he had every single time – would presumably be as extraordinary as memory served.

Q glanced up as Bond walked in. “Looking spectacular, double-oh seven,” he said drily. “Any equipment left to speak of?”

“As you know, not even the body,” Bond replied, just as dry, enjoying the slight smile it elicited. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Please do. Now: basic vital information, if you would.”

Bond rolled his eyes, and rattled off the same collection of information that he always did. “… and age is irrelevant.”

“Technically, you are…”

“… irrelevant, I’ll lie to marks and my body is less than forty-eight hours, I’d imagine?”

Q shrugged. “Something like that. Now don’t worry too much about it all, you seem to be working fairly well – I need to do a quick reflex check, any strange aches or pains?”

A raised eyebrow, and both smirked. “I will not be testing that one.”

“No?”

“No,” Q replied firmly, with just the smallest of smiles. “Test it yourself.”  
“Is that an order?”

Q shook his head with vague disbelief. “Were you this bad with the previous Quartermaster?”

“Bit old for that sort of testing.”

Bond had the audacity to smirk; Q sighed at him. “Oh just, bugger off double-oh seven, we’ll deal with the rest in the morning. I have work to do.”

“The morning?”

“Bond,  _I hate you_.”

The bastard was still laughing as he stalked out of the branch, with only a printed document and a Yale key to let him into wherever he was living this time.


	829. Chapter 829

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello oh talented twosome, I was wondering if I could request a prompt where Q is the son of a dictator who Bond helped kidnap to safety when his British mother defected. Q has remained a bit in awe of Bond ever since, and during their initial meeting hands him something Bond gave the terrified boy (about 8/9) to keep safe. Leading Bond to say “You Must Be Joking” Q’s mission in life is to keep Bond alive and happy-getting him together with Moneypenny maybe Thanks – anon

A pebble. A perfectly formed pebble, and only recognisable because it had been ascribed quite so much importance when Bond hadn’t seen it coming.

“… you must be joking.”

The boy had been tiny when Bond had first met him. First kidnapped him, really, although that was fairly inflammatory and not entirely fair; it had been necessary, before the child was ransomed or murdered or worse.

Now, he was presumably in his late teens or early twenties, and Bond knew him to be Q.

“Thank you, by the way.”

Bond let out a small breath. “Nothing to thank me for, Quartermaster.”

The faint question in Bond’s tone was answered by Q’s laugh. “Yes. Quartermaster. Orphans make the best recruits.”

For a moment, Bond was confused; his mother should have been alive.

Then he recalled just one more of the women he had failed throughout his life: shot through the temple, inches from her own child’s sight. Q had been spared seeing his mother’s body, but was categorically orphaned and placed into MI6 care.

And now, Quartermaster.

Bond knew he was clever.

“I owe you a tremendous amount,” Q commented lightly. “I am intending to become your personal handler, I will oversee and protect you on any requisite missions. I am not emotionally compromised in any way you might anticipate, but it is true that I am extremely heavily invested in your wellbeing.”

“You’re…”

“Your Quartermaster.”

Bond let out another breath. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You still have spots.”

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.”

A small smile; at least the boy was intelligent. “And youth is no guarantee of innovation,” he returned promptly, handing back the pebble; Q accepted it with quiet gratitude, pocketing it and returning Bond a handgun.

Surely,  _surely_  he was far too young to be handling weaponry.  _Surely_.

Apparently not.

Q was just looking over him with interest and almost amusement; he had so many ideas as to how to work with Bond, how to make up for the aeons of lost time. Bond deserved so much happiness and was given none; and so, Q would find a way.

Eve Moneypenny definitely liked Bond, for example. Quite apart from her longstanding guilt complex, she definitely felt – along with most of MI6 – that Bond was a particularly good-looking man, and Q knew he was a good man, too. Moneypenny deserved somebody like that, just as much as Bond deserved somebody like her.

It was only the smallest of efforts to get her on a flight.

At the opposite end of the world, Eve treated Bond to a shave – Q’s surveillance equipment picked up all, ignored the unnecessary parts – and Q twirled the pebble over in long fingers, thinking of Bond, thinking of the life he lived, one he could never have lived were it not for double-oh seven.


	830. Chapter 830

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Jen and Lex! You both are awesome <3 Could you please write Skyfall AU where Silva is still an active agent of MI6 and everyone knows that he and Bond are always in a disagreement and the only thing that they have in common is both of them are very much intrigued by the new Q and then proceed to woo him? Bonus point if everyone in MI6 is not-so-secretly running a bet. Thank you! – anon

“Ah, but Rodriguez has the whole computer thing going for him,” R argued.

Moneypenny shook her head, placing a collection of files on R’s desk. “He is also twice Q’s age.”

“Bond’s not much better!”

“He doesn’t look it though.”

” _Shh_ , he’s coming,“

Both women promptly quieted as Q wandered by, eyebrow raised. "You know I like nothing better than when people are instantly silent in my presence,” he commented dryly. “Eve, what are you scheming now?”

“Nothing Quartermaster, just delivering the latest reports.” Eve replied, without a hint of deception.

Q believed none of it.

His eyes narrowed very slightly. “Thank you,” he replied slowly, pressing his glasses back up his nose.

Moneypenny left swiftly, smirking in a way that made Q wince internally.

“Do I even want to know?” he asked R wearily, as she picked up the top file of the collection.

R’s phone buzzed. “Probably not.”

_£20 says that he picks Bond – Eve_

R’s eyes narrowed, Q watching with vague curiosity and more profound horror, before replying:

_You’re on. R_

Q was therefore rather baffled about quite how two of MI6’s most infamous agents had acquired his personal phone number.

Eve and R continued to watch, and poke their own personal favourites. R was convinced: Tiago was a fellow computer nerd, tall, handsome, profoundly flirtatious. Maybe a little bit  _too_  flirtatious and overwhelmingly camp, but then, Bond was an emotional trainwreck with shadows of alcoholism so _really_  it was about equal.

Q stormed out of his office to R’s desk. “That’s it: I want my phone number changed.”

R blinked. “… why?”

“Naked pictures. You are the only person who will have access to my personal number, bar M himself, and I  _swear to god_  I will kill you if your release it to anybody.”

R swallowed. M was in on the betting, and on R’s side; he would be perfectly happy for R to give Tiago Q’s new number. Except that Eve and most of Medical would probably kill them both.

“… okay,” R finished, hesitantly. “Out of interest… who…”

“ _Don’t even go there_ ,” Q hissed, before deflating, turning just a little bit pink. “By the way, block out my diary on Tuesday night.”

R’s eyes widened. “Are you…?”

“Yes. No, I will not tell you who.”

With that, Q whipped back into his office.

R was on the phone to Eve in less than fifteen seconds.


	831. Chapter 831

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, i have a prompt, and it’s kind of weird, sorry. Could you write something where James has to seduce a lady, but she turns out to be lesbian? so then he has to pretend to be a woman, and Q makes fun of him. – anon

It was all just a bit of a bloody cock-up.

“You can’t just feign being a woman halfway through a mission,” Q hissed at Bond. “Surely you have something in your arsenal other than sleeping with people that could be applicable here…”

Oh no. No. Instead, Bond was halfway through a long-winded diatribe about gender ambiguity, gender fluidity, transgenderism and all variations thereupon. Q didn’t even understand half of it, but judging by the response of the impossibly gorgeous woman opposite, it was having the desired effect.

James Bond was absolutely bloody impossible.

Q could only sit back, drum fingers, and remain very cross.

“This is absurd.”

Bond disappeared to the toilet, winking at the woman who smiled back flirtatiously; Q gaped, just gaped. “It is working,” Bond murmured, as he moved across the ballroom floor. “You told me you wanted a close working relationship with…”

“She’s a lesbian. I assumed you’d go for  _friendship_  rather than start opining about gender politics!”

Bond smiled invisibly. “You’re just jealous you don’t know enough.”

“Don’t try and accuse  _me_  of…”

There was a short pause, as Bond and another mark exchanged pleasantries. Q drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Where were we?”

“ _You_ were pretending that you self-identified as female and found the rigmarole of social engagements difficult as you lack the feminine aesthetic required for others to consider you female  _therefore_ rendering you potentially female  _enough_  to be somehow attractive to a very discerning lesbian,” Q explained, through slightly gritted teeth. “I don’t really know how you’re managing it, but I’m feeling less strictly homosexual with every passing minute…”

“I’m talented.”

“ _You’re insane_.”

Bond pissed. Q stayed silent. Bond washed his hands while Q continued to stew. “Are you going to keep making derogatory comments?”

“You’re the manliest man I will ever meet. You’re aggressively masculine.  _Painfully_  masculine.”

“I’ll be in touch later,” Bond said lightly, and pulled the comm system from his ear, stashing it in his pocket – not just crushed under his heel, thank god – and was therefore merrily oblivious to Q’s commentary for the rest of the night.


	832. Chapter 832

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Dear Writers! I was wondering if you could write a fic with Q having a heart disease, please? – anon

He was young for it, but a high pressure, caffeinated life-style had apparently been enough.

“Fatal?” Bond asked, hand clutched around his partner’s as they sat in the GPs office.

“It’s difficult to say, we need to run a few more tests.” she replied, looking at Q with a type of passive sympathy that the man despised.

Q nodded slowly. “Alright. So… well. Not much more to say, I’m assuming, I’ll turn up to the next consultation?”

“For now. I’ve got some things you should have a read through…”

Bond was silent. Bond would remain silent for a good few hours, in fact, until they had gone home and settled, Q also fairly quiet and neither particularly wanting to think about it too much.

“Tea?” Q asked eventually, as R (the cat rather than his underling) began pawing at the sofa. Bond nodded, still staring slightly into the middle distance. “What do your elf eyes see?” Q called as he went into the kitchen.

Bond smirked very faintly. “Nothing really.”

“Then you need glasses.”

“No, I need my partner to not have…”

Bond cut himself off, body rippling into stillness.

“… yes?”

“You know what,” Bond continued, far more quietly, an edge of active danger in his tone. “You… Well. Today hasn’t been ideal.”

“No shit.”

“You shouldn’t be having caffeine any more either,” Bond told him, standing up and following Q into the kitchen. “Have the green.”

“I don’t want green, I want Earl Grey. With lemon. I want to sit down and watch the telly with Earl Grey and my cat and my boyfriend.” Q was shaking now, hand clutching at the counter. “I’m not going to make my life into… I’m not doing it, I will not lead a life where I can’t do or have the things I love so don’t, just  _don’t_.”

Bond slammed his hand on the counter, making Q flinch and the mugs rattle. “I am  _trying_  to keep you alive a little bit long,” he snapped, volume and aggression ramping. “I can’t watch you die.”

“Well tough shit, but you might. I do that every time you’re on a mission.”

“That’s different…”

“ _How, pray fucking tell?!”_  Q screeched, before taking a couple of steps back, and letting himself slide down the kitchen as he tried, with palpable, not to start crying out of sheer terror.

The silence expanded. Bond let out a slow breath. “Q, you…”

“Not a word.”

The kettle boiled with a soft click. Neither moved.

Bond reached for the green tea, and Q didn’t have the energy to utter a word. Bond sat next to him, both against the kitchen wall with matching mugs, nothing to say that could possibly cover the enormity.

Q slid, his head resting on Bond’s shoulder.

They didn’t say a word.


	833. Chapter 833

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very angsty prompt: A trainee agent was blown up in front of Bond on a mission and part of the poor guy’s flesh went into Bond’s mouth. Since then he’s been unable to eat anything without vomiting violently. Q tries to coax him into eating again but is unable to do so and James eventually has to be hospitalised – stuckinwolftrack

Bond could just about manage water, but it was still hit and miss; Q forced him to drink as much as possible, but then Bond realised drinking water meant drinking alcohol – or so the story went – and thus dropped most of his body weight and became a raging alcoholic, all in the space of a fortnight.

Q slid into a chair. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Bond replied, ostensibly calm. “Welcome back.”

Weeks in hospital, of intensive therapy, of days spent trying to keep Bond’s mind from killing his body.

At least he was no longer drinking. Q considered that a small but notable mercy. The detox had been only the tip of the iceberg; Bond would probably never eat meat again.

As it was, he was sat having a stand-off with a packet of crisps, while his boyfriend watched.

Q snagged one, making Bond smile. “Yes, I understand – the crisps are fine to eat…”

“We both know it isn’t about that,” Q placated, through the crunch. “So don’t worry, just eat. You’ve been doing well.”

It had been  _anything_ , at first. Eventually, Medical had to intervene, because Bond was literally starving himself to death very rapidly and Psych couldn’t do anything, Q couldn’t do anything.

Eventually, they had settled for an NG tube, as it was the only way to get Bond food without him vomiting violently at the memory. Q couldn’t really blame him, but it was a terrible thing to have had to resort to. “I’m managing fluids. They won’t give me coffee.”

“After the alcohol, you can’t really blame them.”

“I  _want_  coffee.”

“I bet you do,” Q laughed, and pulled a banana from out of his bag. “You like bananas. Reckon you can manage one?”

“I didn’t know it was a challenge day for me,” Bond returned drily, taking a final few crisps before somewhat reluctantly retrieving the banana. “So. Banana, and no alcohol. Not my day.”

The detox had been arguably the worst part of the entire affair.

In fact, Q had no idea which had been the worst part.

Q was very, very tired. More than tired; exhausted.

“You’ll get well,” he said quietly, for the billionth time. “It’ll… we’ll get there. It’ll be alright. I love you.”

Such common words, frequent words, known words. Their words, the things they strung together when Bond was catatonic or Q was literally crying with exhaustion or alcohol poisoned the air between them or Bond was retching into a bucket after attempting to eat a sandwich.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Bond bit into the banana. Swallowed.

“It’ll be alright,” Q repeated, again, closing his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as Bond didn’t retch, didn’t vomit. Another slow breath. “It’ll be alright.”


	834. Chapter 834

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yoo!! I ADORE YOUR FICS!! :D I was wondering if you could do a fic where the double 0s have a tough time taking Q seriously and when Q saves one of them, even disobeying M, and realizing just how overworked their Quartermaster is, they cant help but fell love and respect for him and everything he stands for? I know its unconventional, but feel free to ignore :) – anon

At the end of the day, he is still a kid, or so the double-oh agents tell themselves.

Bond was fond, but then, Bond always had a soft spot for the younger types with pretty angles and quick words; he had a great deal of respect for the Quartermaster as an individual – clever and witty, surprisingly likeable once you spoke a little to him – but had far less time for him as his actual Quartermaster.

Nobody really did. Q was the type to take out to drinks, not take seriously as he handed over weaponry.

“… but I have to admit, the gun was innovative,” Bond was saying to Alec, as they sat down in the MI6 canteen; both were in for paperwork-related reasons, and had spent more time in the company of each other than their constituent files. “Took him to dinner…”

“Well done, you got there first,” Alec snorted. “I thought Miller might beat you to it…”

Miller was one of the few female double-ohs, and given that the jury had been well and truly out on Q’s sexuality from the outset, Alec had bet on Miller, and now owed 008 a fair bit of money.

Bugger. “You should always be betting on me,” Bond pointed out. “I always win. I always, always win. You know that.”

“You’re a twat, Bond.”

At which point, Bond’s phone rang. “<i>Get into Q-branch</i>,” R told him with mild hysteria. “You need to see this.”

Both double-oh agents did as commanded; MI6 was desperately boring, as a building, unless there was an explosion from Q-branch or Medical had a rogue or one of the senior management lot were on the rampage.

This time, it was Q himself on the rampage. With M. Neither of whom could agree with one another.”

“…001, left, do not engage until you have my say-so, you cannot afford the time.”

“We will lose the mark if we…”

“With all due respect, sir,” Q snapped, at his superior office, “Fuck off. I’m busy, and I know what I’m doing.”

Alec let out a low whistle; Q would get it in the neck for speaking to M like that. “I have more experience in this area…”

“001, stairs to your right, first floor. There is a balcony that will give you sights. Take it from there.”  
“It is not a secure location.”

Q ignored him. “001, do you copy?”

She was already taking the stairs, two at a time. “Copy.”

M had tapped into the conversation a long while previously, “001…”

Q disconnected him. “I will keep you and dependents alive, 001, hold your position.”

“ _Why_.”

Q glanced up at M. “There is an ambush further up, 001 is being shepherded by the mark and his entourage. This is the only angle that they appear to have not anticipated, given that the building in question is residential and there are no registered disturbances. Continuing forward runs a 70% risk, minimum, of fatality when he gets hit by a sniper. Let me do my job.”

M quieted.

Bond, Alec, and a host of assorted agents had snuck into the back of Q-branch, and were watching with fascination. 001, to her credit, was doing precisely as she was told: the mark did as predicted, 001 picked him off with a single easy shot. While the other thugs were looking around for her, she slid through a nicely set-up living room and directly out the front door.

Bond didn’t manage to follow precisely what gadgetry had been used to make 001’s hair twice as long and a different colour, nor the different jacket, nor the shoes abruptly becoming high heels. He listened with awe as Q directed her to a car – a universal car key allowing her immediate access – and watched the CCTV follow her past the alleyway she could well have died in.

“… and that’s me signing off for now, tap back in for emergencies.”

“Copy that, thank you Quartermaster.”

Q tapped a few keys, and turned to M.

Both stared at one another in silence for a moment, as M decided whether to be difficult or not, whether to just accept Q’s rather phenomenal handling and apparent gadgetry without pulling him up on discipline and listening to superiors.

“Well handled,” he said instead. “As you were.”

Bond and Alec exchanged glances. Alec couldn’t help but smirk very slightly, before all-out laughing. “All yours, Bond, you’ve got a hell of a man on your hands.”

“Doesn’t he just,” Q called drolly, without looking around, and Alec just collapsed with laughter.


	835. Chapter 835

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is prone to frequent, rather long nosebleeds, although by chance Bond does not know this and has never seen him have one. Then Q’s in the middle of explaining something to Q branch (with Bond present) and a nosebleed starts. Bond starts freaking out a bit because Q and blood, and Q finds his reaction kind of endearing. (Bonus if the minions are all aware and are really helpful!) Many thanks (from someone who’s currently having a nosebleed. ) – anon

“Oh bollocks,” Q muttered, as his hand came away stained red.

Q was perfectly chilled, as were the rest of the branch. It was nothing new; in fact, Q was valiantly trying to continue with his over-detailed explanations of a new gadget while pulling tissues out of his pocket.

He conceded defeat when he dripped blood onto the touchscreen surface.

Bond, meanwhile, was vaguely hysterical.

“… that’s far too much blood, you can’t…”

“Double-oh seven, calm down,” one of the minions ordered him; the fact that he was giving orders caused Bond to shoot one of his patented murderous glares, the minion in question backing off rapidly.

Bond remained at Q’s side, fretting, as he pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and bled continuously into a tissue. “It looks worse than it is,” he told Bond lightly, as strings of bloodied mucus appeared – Q wrinkled his face with disgust – and then returned attention to the pen. “And if you press it twice…”

“Q, I don’t care right now.”

Q, and half of his branch, glanced up at him with betrayed and livid expressions.

Bond sighed. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Q cut over, still a dash aggrieved. “You’re just worried, yes?”

Worry didn’t cover it. “You’re  _still bleeding_.”

“ _Yes_  James, I am. This happens fairly frequently, you’ve just not been party to it yet – get used to it. I’m considering an operation to stop them happening, simple procedure et cetera, but I’m still a little wary of it. I hate operations if I can avoid them.”

Bond let out a small, annoyed sound. “Nobody should bleed this much this frequently. You must get it sorted.”

“I ‘must’ do nothing,” Q returned acerbically, still bleeding fairly resolutely. “ _You_  need to calm down. I’m not going to die.”

“Touch wood,” R interjected merrily, earning twin glares from Bond and Q. “What? It’s true!”

Q pulled the tissue away from his nose. Slightly better now. “Okay, as we were: if you double-click the pen…”

“Are you  _sure_  you’re okay?”

“I swear to god, Bond, I will knee you in the balls,” Q snapped at him. “You’re ridiculously endearing, but quite seriously, it’s  _fine_. Honestly fine. I’ll be fine.”

“But…”

“ _I mean it_.”

A quick apology. Q changed the now blood-sodden tissue.

Both glared a bit at one another. Q was secretly trying not to laugh. R wasn’t even trying.

Another change. This time, Q balled up some tissue and rammed it up her nose to staunch any further flow, looking rather silly with tissue poking out, but at least most of the bleeding had stopped.

Indignant, both stared at one another for a moment, while the minions giggled.

Q took a breath, and gave Bond a somewhat wicked grin: “… and if you press the button twice…”


	836. Chapter 836

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Sorry this is like my tenth prompt, but I’d really like a songfic for Better Dig Two by the Band Perry. With a gender swapped!Q married to James, pretty please? – anon

Bond was always going to die first.

If Q somehow died first, it would be a spectacularly short amount of time before Bond joined her. Indeed, vice versa too.

This was known. It was just a quiet understanding, and had been since the moment they met, and certainly since the moment they married; both quietly informed the other that they would love each other until the day they died, and meant it.

“Q Bond.”

Bond snorted a bit. “You actually receive letters saying that?”

“My legal name is Q Bond, so I’d imagine so,” Q replied calmly, flicking through the various bits of post they’d received. “Slightly bizarre, I’ll admit, but after the shock of being Q in the first place, the surname is easier to handle.”

Q shot Bond a smile, which – as ever – just served to remind Bond how much he adored the woman. There was something very much  _Q_  in her smile, unbelievable sarcasm with a tempering reserved only for Bond.

Q knew full well she was crippled by loving Bond. Far too dangerous a man to fall in love with.

“I like it,” Bond mused. “You having my name.”

“I quite like having a surname again,” Q agreed, her smile broader now, mischievous.

Bond was so very certain that Q would outlive him that it didn’t even concern him unduly; it was Q who ruminated on the theme, and knew – just  _knew_  – that she wouldn’t last without Bond.

Their graves would lie parallel.

“I’m glad you like it, it would be awkward if you didn’t.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Q replied, without hesitation, “but that’s not the point. I wanted to. I got rid of all my names for the sake of my job, so hey, I now get an actual name and a partner, a life outside work. Although I’d like to not be using a pseudonym at home…”

It was a little conspicuous, being ‘Q Bond’; for bills and other post, Q was using a  _very_  silly name that hopefully she could change to match Bond’s. He was known as ‘Sterling’ for home, and Q was just Jane because it was the first time anybody could think of for a pseudonym.

Now, she would be Q Bond legally, and show as Jane Sterling on all other post. Her birth certificate lingered in the bottom of a cupboard, and would stay there indefinitely; she could barely remember the last time she’d been called by her birth name.

“I love you,” Bond told her absentmindedly.

Q flicked a glance up at him. “I love you too.”


	837. Chapter 837

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q. I keep hearing the song Peace by O A R, and can’t help 00Q flashing through my head, so maybe a prompt based around that? (Although I’d prefer not the usual trope of Bond doing something stupid on a mission and almost getting killed and Q being angry.) – anon

Q stared, feeling hollow, something dead in his chest.

He had thought it would get easier. Q had known Bond’s reputation: he was a womaniser, and yes, a cheat. Monogamy was not in James Bond’s composition, and fool that he was, Q had thought he could change the man.

“Q, I’m sorry.”

It was a long while before Q could find words. “Good.”

A protracted, uncomfortable silence. “Q, you…”

“No, James. No. You can’t make this go away by hoping.”

“I want to make this right.”

Q snorted slightly. “How were you planning to do that? Reverse time?”

“I won’t leave. Q, please.”

Bond was outside the door. Q was inside. He was refusing to let Bond into the flat. Bond was lingering on the other side, calling out to Q, trying to change what had long since been and gone.

“I miss your smile.”

Q’s face contorted into a bitter incarnation of it,  _hating_  Bond ferociously for a moment, because he had no right to take that angle. He had  _no right_  to remind Q of being happy. “Go away. You’ll wake up the neighbours.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t seem to care about a lot of things,” Q snapped, everything in him snapping to wrench open the door. “You want a domestic on the doorstep? Enjoy. You slept with somebody else,  _again_. It’s not something I especially want to forgive and forget right now, so fuck off.”

Q tried to slam the door. Bond caught it, didn’t even wince at the impact, and continued to look at Q with a plea that seemed almost genuine. “I live here too.”

The standoff lasted about five seconds, before Q released the door, turning smartly and walking away in the opposite direction. “I’m going to bed, you can sleep on the sofa and I don’t give a fuck what it does to your back – you’ve experienced quite a few comfortable beds in the last few days.”

Bond shut the front door, trying to debate options and finding them very lacking. “Q, please listen to me.”

Q spun on his heel. “If you’re going to try for excuses or explanations…”

“I made a mistake.”

“Yes. I know you did. And?”

“I’m sorry, Q.”

“Good.”

“Please, Q,” Bond continued, and oh jesus lord he was pleading. James Bond, pleading.

Q honestly just felt very, very tired. The storm was breaking over his head, and he just wanted quiet.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” he replied quietly. “Let me sleep. I need to think.”

Bond nodded.

Both felt the absence keenly, as they turned in the night to find a form sleeping next to them, finding only empty space.


	838. Chapter 838

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because of a misconduct of Q-Branch’s new invention, all of the 00s are changed into kids. Chaos ensues in MI6. Rather unsurprisingly, the 00s only listen to Q. – anon

“Oh, this is  _brilliant_ ,” R snorted, looking around Q-branch. “Hands-down my favourite thing you’ve done…”

Q-branch was in organised chaos. Sort-of organised, anyway; it would have been far worse had it not been for Q’s very emphatic and deliberate orders. “Double-oh one, if you would?” Q called, and – to R’s absolutely hysterical joy – 001 toddled over, practically tripping over her feet.

R and 001 had been dating for seven months. R was having a field day.

Q lifted 001 up by the armpits, while R tried very hard to compose herself, and the six-year-old looked at Q with a pouting, livid kind of expression. “Yes, I know,” Q sighed at her, and started checking that all her limbs were intact. “How’s your English?”

“Fine,” she said, voice considerably higher than normal. “I’m  _bored_. Play with me?”

Neither Q or R or anybody else could work out precisely how much or how little of the double-ohs had been infantilised. It seemed that their intelligence, even knowledge, was still intact; their concentration, their aims and desires, seemed to have changed somewhat.

“ _BORED_ ,” shrieked another child from the other side of Q-branch.

R snorted again. “Yep, this is amazing,” she giggled, as the door opened to admit a rather confused Moneypenny. “Eve, you won’t  _believe_  what’s…”  
Eve had no chance to respond; a miniature 006 barrelled at her legs, clinging on with merry abandon. “EVE!”

Q and R were all but cackling, as she looked up. “… what?” she managed, extracting child from around her leg. “Q,  _what_ …? Hang on.”

The two Q-branch operatives watched as Eve turned very slightly pale.

The child in her arms – blond, grinning, blue eyes – looked  _horribly_  familiar. “Alec?!”

“Eve!” Alec replied happily, continuing to cling and somewhat wrecking her dress by pawing at it. “Play with me?”

Eve looked up at Q in horror. “What have you done?”

“Both of ours have changed too,” Q told her absentmindedly, popping 001 back onto the floor (she attached herself to R again without further ado).

Bond was in Q’s office. He refused to leave. He seemed to be having a nap, as far as everybody could establish; Q was just desperately hoping he didn’t see fit to abruptly wake up and destroy everything Q had ever touched. “But  _how?_ ”

“I was testing a gadget, things escalated,” Q returned shortly, rummaging through a drawer. “I’m _hoping_  to reverse it fairly easily, but I needed to give them all a once-over to check they weren’t, you know, missing bodily parts before I tried for a reversal…”

“Makes sense,” Eve mumbled, holding Alec away from her a bit.

He grinned, and batted at her nose.

Q shook his head slightly, smiling as he fiddled with the new device. “Alright then. R?”

R lifted 001 again. She made a noise of indignation, and nearly started crying, which was the point at which Q zapped her with a laser. “Hang on, you’re doing one at a time?”

“Yes…”

“So why on earth did you convert  _all of them_  into kids?!” Eve yelped, as Alec started to pull at her hair, her dress, wriggling out of her grasp and roaming around like the terror he was; Q paled as he suddenly realised that Alec was playing with another blond.

Bond was awake.

“ _CATCH THEM!”_  Q yelped, and thus the rest of Q-branch degenerated into a random child-chase, and amidst the chaos Q very nearly managed to decapitate 005.

Not, altogether, their most auspicious moment – although indisputably, their most infamous.


	839. Chapter 839

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another prompt, if you don’t mind terribly? Q hates kissing. He finds it unappealing, but does it to satisfy partners because it’s socially expected in a romantic relationship. Bond finds out (during sex maybe?) when Q’s so disgusted by the kiss that he goes soft? Then fluff resolution? :) xxx – optimisticstorm

Bond’s hands moved across his body in delightful patterns, tweaking his nipples and running down across his stomach. Q sighed, feeling the hands reach lower and encircle his rapidly hardening cock. He felt Bond’s lips at his neck, kissing up along his jaw line.

_Don’t fuck this up, it’s James bloody Bond, just ignore it_  he told himself and Bond started to kiss him. _Think about the handjob_

Q willed himself to respond as he felt the flick of James’s tongue against his lips.

Good god, he hated kissing. Kissing was such a weird thing. It was supposed to be such a fantastic thing, the opening of a love affair, a sensuous thing, but Q just found it very weird to stick his tongue into somebody else’s mouth and pretend it felt anything other than ghastly and wet.

It was just so difficult to try and enjoy a handjob with a bloody  _tongue_  probing at his face.

_Why god? Why me? Why why why am I so ab-fucking-normal about something so utterly normal for god’s sake why…_

Bond noticed.

_Bugger_.

“Everything alright?” Bond murmured, immediately – subtly – pulling back; the pressure around his cock went (less good) but also the tongue went away (more good) and Q didn’t really know what to say.

A moment of silence, and Q sighed. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s just… I hate kissing.”

The silence was even longer. Bond moved back a little further. “I didn’t realise,” he said, sounding genuinely horrified. “I… Q, I’m so sorry.”

Q blinked. “You’re what?”  
“Are you uncomfortable with sex as a whole?” Bond continued, barely touching Q now. “Or is it just kissing, or…?”

“Just kissing,” Q was quick to assure him, wrapping a bare leg around Bond’s to stop him moving back any further. “Sorry, I just… it seems really weird to me, I’ve never liked it, it’s not you…”

Bond nodded, seeming to relax a little. “So… what  _are_  you comfortable with?”

Q felt somewhat confused. Nobody had ever been quite so… okay with it. Most of his previous partners hadn’t noticed, or had ignored it, or taken grave offence, or never really asked the question.

“Well…” he started, a little uncertainly. “I don’t mind kissing anywhere else, it’s just in the mouth… on the mouth… you know what I mean. Sort of…  _invasive_  kissing. Sorry, you know what I mean.”

Bond smiled very slightly. “I know what you mean. So… kissing anywhere else is…?”

“Fine. Encouraged. Actively encouraged,” Q said quickly. “Yes, it’s just… mouth things. Is that okay? I know it’s not ideal, but…”

Bond leaned in, and pressed a dry kiss to Q’s forehead. Gentle, accepting, “It’s fine,” he told Q lightly. “More than fine. Now, would you like to pick up where we left off…?”

“ _Very much so_ ,” Q told him, kissing him on his jawline, across to his pulse-point, a dry kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

“Just  _tell me_  if there’s anything you’re not happy with,” Bond murmured, his hands dancing down again, finding Q’s cock. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Q breathed, and as Bond’s hand closed around him, he gave himself just a moment to be almost painfully relieved


	840. Chapter 840

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you please do something where Q or James safe words in the middle of something they’ve done before, maybe something happened to one that triggers something. I’d really like the other one to be really comforting and tender with the other. Dom James and sub Q please? – anon

“Shit. Red.  _Red_.”

Bond immediately backed off, not a fraction of hesitation. Q was breathing erratically, body tense and rippling with the effort of getting free.

“Q, breathe for me. Can I touch you?”

“Get me out,” Q said quickly, rapidly, letting out a whimper of quiet panic. “James, let me out  _get me out_.”

It would be disastrous to move too quickly, spook Q even further; Bond took it carefully, reaching out with clear movements to free Q’s hands from the bedstead.

The instant they were released, the tension seemed to leave Q’s body all at once. “Fuck.  _Fuck_ ,” he mumbled, curling into a ball without seeming to notice Bond at all. “Fuck. Sorry. Sorry about this, sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Bond told him instantly. “Q, can you look at me?”

Q’s gaze lifted sharply, eyes wide and terrified. “I don’t know why.”  
“You don’t have to,” Bond told him steadily, reassuringly; Q’s body trembled with sobs. “Q, try to breathe for me. It’s alright.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Q. It’s fine. I only need you to breathe, for now.”

Slowly, Q was stilling. The breathing became more regular, the tears still falling but the rest of him far calmer. “James?”

“I’m here,” Bond soothed, still not touching him. “Are you with me, Q?”

An uncertain nod. “Fuck. James, I’m so sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know, I wasn’t… I don’t understand,” he managed, quiet and immensely fragile.

“You really don’t have to. It’s trauma, Q, it’s a memory. You know I get it too.”

Q’s eyes became more tearful, voice mumbling “… but not in the middle of…”

“I have, actually.”

Bond watched Q freeze. “What?”

“Not with you,” Bond added, “but I have. It happens. You forget, Q – you have one of the most traumatic jobs in MI6, I’d be surprised if you didn’t respond badly once in a while.”

“It’s not like being in the field.”

Bond shrugged. “No, it’s not. It’s worse, in some respects. You have to listen to us die.”

Q’s entire body shuddered. Bond rather regretted mentioning it.

Mercifully, Q seemed to calm again, creeping stillness through his body. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again, in spite of Bond’s attempts to assure him he needn’t. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bond repeated.

Q shuffled closer to him, insinuating himself around Bond’s body; Bond slid arms around Q in return, lacing him closer while the man continued to hiccup intermittent sobs. Q’s body was chilling colder, exposed, curling into Bond’s chest as he pulled the covers up.

Bond breathed kisses into his hair, sex quite entirely forgotten, shielding him and Q from everything he could, holding him close as Q slid into an emotionally exhausted sleep.


	841. Chapter 841

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey,I was used to read your writings on ao3 till you stopped posting, glad to find you on tumblr! Would you mind taking a prompt: Bond was turned into a bear due to some sort of Q branch tech, as the person responsible, Q was ordered to take bond home after work. Unfortunately, living with Bear!Bond, destroyed equipment was the last thing Q should concern. Last week was pretty rough for me(lost a loved one). Fluff needed. And thank you so much!! – mowenus

“Oh fuck.”

Q had been testing. Just testing. There was nothing in him that really thought it would work, far less that he’d accidently turn his boyfriend into an honest-to-god bear.

Bond was an exercise in muscle at size at the best of times.

Whilst in bear form, he grazed the ceiling and scared the absolute shit out of Q, who had to give Q-branch a panicked phone call while – to his relief – Bond didn’t kill him on the spot. Apparently, enough of Bond remained to not cause Q any physical harm.

It also appeared that Bond was just as shit with looking after equipment when in bear form. To be honest, Q could forgive him a little more when he was a bear; his coordination had taken something of a knock, and he was frankly enormous in the confined space of Q’s flat.

Q had no idea what he was going to do, other than work flat-out to change him back.

“… and I don’t really know what to feed you,” Q admitted, to the placid black bear who was skulking in the corner of the room. He looked up at the mention of food, staring at Q with unnerving intensity. “Any ideas? Are you… I mean are you still going to eat the same things?”

A low grumble.

Jesus, the man – bear – was terrifying.

“Okay. So. I assume meat? Raw?”

Bond nodded.

There was something unbelievably surreal about a black bear nodding in answer to questions. “My life is weird,” Q mumbled to himself, heading into the kitchen to pull out the last (slightly mangy) packet of beef mince from the fridge.

The moment Bond saw it, the growling became more pronounced; Q hurriedly ripped off the plastic, and all but lobbed it at the bear; he seemed to snag it out of the air and swallow it with very little hesitation. “… that’s all we have in,” Q told the bear, with quiet uncertainty. “Erm… can you just stay very still while I try to fix it?”

Bond nodded again. Q tried not to giggle a little hysterically.

“My boyfriend’s a bear. And it’s my fault,” Q mumbled, under his breath, and picked up the small device that had caused so much chaos; Q’s desk had avoided most of the onslaught of Bond’s initial raging confusion – the sofa had fallen victim to most of it – and so had the original device. “James, I don’t know how long it’ll take before I can change you back.”

The bear made an indignant and somewhat panicked noise. Q looked at him. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he muttered darkly, and picked up a mini-screwdriver.

It certainly promised to be interesting.


	842. Chapter 842

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about one where James and Q are both in University. They are good friends but one day Q suddenly realizes that he likes James? Your writing is awesome!! Thanks. Have a fantastic day. – anon

Bond and Q were from entirely separate worlds – but then, university is an excellent place for various different worlds to cross over, especially where alcohol is involved.

They met through Eve Moneypenny, a mutual friend, who was hosting pre-drinks in her room with the intention of going clubbing afterwards. It was not Q’s usual scene, but Eve was a good friend (they lived on the same floor) and vodka is an excellent way to borrow confidence.

By the time Q arrived, the evening had already starting winding up. About a dozen people were milling around, most of whom Q knew or at least recognised from university events. Eve immediately pressed a glass of wine into his hand and let him attempt to socialise with about as much deftness as a dead fish.

“… hello.”

Q turned around to see James Bond.

“Hi,” Q replied, taking a fortifying glug of wine before he tripped over his own tongue. “How’re you?”

And that was it. They spent the evening chatting. Bond convinced Q to go out clubbing, which was a fairly amusing experience for all concerned. Q nearly lost his glasses. Eve went home with Alec Trevelyan. Bond was a consummate flirt who spent the night dancing with Q.

It was a hell of a night. Q woke up half-dressed and the wrong way round on his bed, with James Bond asleep on the floor several feet away.

They became very good friends. Nothing connects people quite as well as a mutual hangover.

Q took his time realising. In retrospect, he should have realised far sooner, but Q hadn’t been _expecting_  somebody to emerge from the woodwork to replace the last boy he had dated who really was the antithesis of Bond.

“So you’ve finally realised?” Eve asked kindly, after a somewhat haggard Q knocked on her door and mostly just rasped a bit about Bond. “You’re the only one left who doesn’t know.”

Q looked at her. Accepted a cup of tea. (Eve had started stocking Earl Grey exclusively for Q, who was perpetually knocking on her door). Blinked a little, eyes magnified slightly behind his glasses.

“… what do you mean?”

Eve raised an eyebrow. “You two. Everybody knows you and James are only a matter of time. I’d tell him, if I were you, because he’s not been sure.”

“He likes me too?!”

“I feel like the university counsellor,” Eve sighed, with an eyeroll and a sip of her own sludge-black coffee. “Yes, Q, of course he does. Go talk to him, he’ll be over the moon.”

“I can’t tell him!”

Eve stared at him. “Why in the name of all things holy not?!”

“Because he’ll…” Q trailed off. He was still trying very hard to compute that Bond liked him at all, or whether Eve was overstating matters. “He definitely likes me?”

“You two are hopeless,” Eve muttered.

Then, she started texting.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Q managed, voice somewhat high-pitched. “Eve, who are you texting?”

“James. To tell him to talk to you. Look at me, matchmaking.”

“I’m going to  _kill you_.”

Eve’s smile was pure wickedness. “We’ll see. He’ll be over in ten minutes.”

Q gaped.

He was definitely going to kill her.


	843. Chapter 843

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q- Bond asks Q why he doesn’t call him “James.” Q explains that he doesn’t want to sound like all his other lovers who think that just because they call him by his first name that they actually are close. Q really does want to be close with James, however, he just still has some lingering insecurities about their relationship and how long it will last. Little does he know Bond is sincerely in it for the long haul. – ravenjade

“You never call me by my first name.”

Q’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do you mind?” he asked, a little uncertainly.

Bond shrugged, taking a sip of his brandy and relaxing back into Q’s overly comfortable armchairs. Q was cooking, kept ducking and diving in and out of the kitchen, and was now staring at Bond with vague suspicion.

“No,” Bond acceded, “but that’s not the point. I was just wondering why you do it.”

“One second,” Q managed, disappearing into the kitchen briefly; he returned a moment later, looking a dash harassed. “Okay. Firstly, professionalism, I’m always going to call you Bond at work. Or double-oh seven, but I rather thought it would be inappropriate in this context…”

“I’m not disputing that.”

Something binged in the kitchen. “Bollocks, hang on…”

Q vanished, re-emerged.

“… and secondly?” Bond prompted.

“All your lovers call you James. All your one-night stands, they all… names are vital, they’re a part of people.”

Bond’s smile was very slightly rueful. “Like your name?”

“That’s my name. I couldn’t give you anything more. I made it universal because I didn’t  _want_  to be my old self, so I wouldn’t ever want to tell you, it’s somebody else’s name now, it’s my old self’s name. You _are_  James Bond, you’re James, but that name isn’t… James is personal. Calling you James just makes me another of so many people, and that isn’t your fault, but I don’t want to be  _another_.”

Bond nodded slowly. “I understand,” he replied quietly.

The moment died as Q once again vanished into the kitchen, which did – mercifully – have the advantage of giving Bond a moment to think.

When Q emerged, he seemed to have flicked flour into his hair. Bond genuinely didn’t want to think about what was going on in there.

“Why would you think yourself one of the others?” Bond asked slowly, with a great deal of care.

Q really did look stressed. “I don’t know, but I thought… if I called you James, it would be intimate somehow, more intimate than anything else… it’s like when I gave you my home address. It’s personal. A part of you.”

“Your flat?”

“I have everything precious here,” Q replied quietly. “So yes, my flat. And your name.”

Bond nodded. “Q, I want us to be that intimate.”

Q pushed a hand through his hair. It looked a little bit sticky. Something beeped. He ignored it.

“You want…”

“Commitment, monogamy,” Bond summarised. “And  _you_ , Q. I want you, and I want you have me, too.”

“Oh.”

Q went back into the kitchen. He took perhaps a little longer than he needed to.

“I want that too,” he said, poking his head around the door, most of his body still hidden. “Erm. Yes. James. I want that too.”

Bond smiled, moved to Q in a few confident strides, and kissed him with a surety that Q couldn’t help but melt into. “I like it when you say my name,” Bond purred into his ear.

“ _James_ ,” Q murmured against his lips, and sod whatever was happening in the kitchen behind him.


	844. Chapter 844

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello there lovelies! <3 I browsing Rerumfragmenta blog and saw her cat!Q and SnowLeopard!Bond pictures. I was wonderingif you could write some fluff where Q is trying to nap on top of his boyfriend but Bond is purring waaay too loud. If you look up ‘leopard purring’ on yt you can find video references they’re sooo cute Thank you!! <3 <3 – anon

Q was getting deeply annoyed at Bond, and his relative level of comfiness.

It wasn’t fair. Q was a fraction of his size, couldn’t do much about it, settling for sleeping on top of the man in the hope that he’d stay very still and stop switching in and out of forms; apparently Bond was incapable of remaining steady, and so Q had napped off on his boyfriend’s lap onto be unceremoniously chucked off when the lap disappeared to be replaced by a fully grown snow leopard.

“… James,” Q groaned – he had reflexively changed form the moment he was chucked off – and pawed at Bond’s face. “ _James_.”

If snow leopards could grin, that was Bond’s expression in that moment.

Q rolled his eyes, switched back into cat form, and climbed up Bond’s side to settle irritably on top of his head. A small vengeance, but a nice one all the same, and Bond wouldn’t  _dare_  switch out while Q was in such a precarious position.

Settled, Q yawned, nuzzled into Bond’s fur, and attempted to sleep.

At which stage, there was a veritable  _earthquake_  of purring.

 _I’m going to kill you_ , Q thought, wondering whether it would be considered bad form to dig his claws into the back of Bond’s neck.  _I am absolutely going to kill you_ …

In lieu of scratching the man to death, Q settled for bashing a paw on top of his head; it ended up more of a very commendable attempt at bopping him instead, which Bond seemed to find very endearing and purred even bloody louder.

Claws. Q was going to have to use claws.

 _Not even sorry_ , Q thought to himself, as he threw a stinging swipe at Bond’s ears.

Bond snarled, shook his head, and dislodged a rather harassed Q who promptly went flying; he curled himself up and managed to land on his feet – his feline instincts were several billion times better than his human equivalent – before squaring up to a now rather irate leopard.

Switching again was more effort than Q figured was necessary. Instead, he faced off against a creature with jaws wide enough to swallow him pretty much whole.

Q let out an aggravated mew. Bond blinked, looking generally confused; he hadn’t expected a claw to the head and unsurprisingly wasn’t delighted. Nor did he understand what on earth he had done wrong to deserve it.

Bond reached out a paw. An apology. (although he still didn’t have the faintest idea what had gone wrong in the first place).

Q sniffed, and primly returned to Bond’s side, clambering back to settle on him comfortably.

Of course, the moment Q settled, Bond started purring again.

 _Definitely going to kill him_ , Q thought, letting out a yowl of protest as Bond vibrated with purrs that nearly toppled Q off him again.


	845. Chapter 845

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a Bond/Q prompt based on Red Like Roses Part II by Jeff and Casey Lee Williams? It matches them both so perfectly… You guys are both amazing – anon

As predicted, Bond died first.

Initially, Q dealt with it rather well; after all, they had always known it would happen this way. Bond would die and Q would go on living, and the order of the world would settle, a new double-oh agent appointed, Q would go through their flat and charity-shop most of whatever was Bond’s, and life would carry on.

“… you’ve not gone home,” R noticed, with quiet worry.

Q and R were very close. Q knew that R would be a more than admirable replacement for him, when he finally died or otherwise became incapacitated.

(Resigning was not an option. Q would never resign.)

R became his keeper, of sorts. She knocked on his office door once in a while to check up on him, bring him tea, bring him food, keep him safe. Bond had asked. Q barely noticed; he worked all hours of the day and night, only vaguely aware of R’s insistent appearances and questions of his health.

 _“You mustn’t do what I did_.”

Bond’s voice echoed, and Q suppressed a faint shudder. “I’ll go home eventually,” he told R, ignoring the shreds of guilt at R’s expression. She cared far too much. Q felt weirdly hollow.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Q knew he needed to go home, clear the flat, clean. The plants were probably dead. Bit like Bond, really, he thought with a wry and slightly hysterical sense of humour.

“Erm, tea,” he mumbled at R, aware that he looked and sounded like shit. He hadn’t changed clothes in two days. He couldn’t really remember when he last shaved. “Tea would be good.”

“You need to eat.”

Q looked up at her, his eyes bruise-black. “R, please go away.”

Bond would be frankly livid, if he knew. After weeks and months of warning and planning, they both knew that grieving indefinitely was a damn dangerous thing: Bond had told him, explicitly, to not let this happen.

Grief had become raw anger. Q worked hysterically, hoping like hell that the fury would dissipate. As it was, Q could only hate Bond with a passionate vengeance.

He should not have died. Q had always begged him not to be the first to die. Bond knew how to cope with losing a loved one, and maybe it was selfish, but Q  _knew_  Bond would be okay. Q had no experience and no understanding of loss, and his work was more important than his grief and he had no  _time_. Bond would have disappeared for a few months, dropped off the radar, and come back vaguely intact.

R slid out of the door.

“You promised you wouldn’t fucking die,” Q mumbled at nothing. “Bastard.”

Q’s office remained empty.

A moment of silence, of quiet.

Q lifted his hands back to the keyboard, and continued typing, Bond’s voice in the back of his head.


	846. Chapter 846

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just had the idea that I thought you might like. 00Q naked hide-and-seek. This is what happens when I watch Torchwood…. – anon

“This is  _such_  a bad idea…”

Q was, reasonably, fairly nervous.

MI6 was empty, the night staff installed, and Q-branch was practically empty. It was one of those beautiful and rare moments when no missions needed immediate handling, paperwork was done, and Q could look out at the row of empty desks and hiss  _yessss_  under his breath with the knowledge that he’d done rather well and all was exactly as it should be.

Which meant Bond wanted to do something outrageous, just because he had the opportunity: in short, Bond had blackmailed and wheedled his way into convincing Q itw oudl be a good idea to play naked hide and seek.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

Q was crouching behind a desk, feeling shockingly conspicuous. Bond was prowling; Q had  slight vantage point, and the ability to tetris himself into any given small space.

Bond was gorgeous when stark naked. Most would kill for a body like his, unlike Q’s strangely gangling and rather skinny physique. This was one of the real upsides of being the one hiding: he could _watch_.

Only, Bond was getting surprisingly close.

Q kept his body low to the ground, and slid across to the next row of desks, unnoticed. The view had been lost, but Q could hear the faint sounds of padded feet, if he concentrated.

Adrenaline was thrumming in his throat. Q was getting more paranoid by the moment.

“Gotcha.”

Q all but jumped out of his skin with a frantic screeching. “ _Fuck_. How the  _hell_ …”

Bond laughed, pulling a very naked and very confused Q into his arms. “CCTV, Quartermaster.”

“That’s  _cheating_.”

Bond kissed him. Q rolled his eyes, but allowed it with a sigh of the aggrieved. “It’s not cheating, it’s innovation.”

“You cheat, you always cheat,” he muttered, against Bond’s lips. “Twat.”

A low, thrumming laugh. “You love it.”

Q couldn’t really argue. Bond took him apart with kisses.

“Into my office,” Q ordered. “Not in the middle of the branch.”

Bond ignored him, and somehow pushed the kiss from something passionate into something frankly electric; Bond’s hands knotted into his hair, Q wrenching himself closer so their bodies were all but melding, and the noise Q was making was frankly obscene.

“ _Oh god_.”

Q and Bond looked over with twin expressions of shock. Of course, Q’s shifted to horror while Bond’s shifted to something irritatingly smug. “R…”

Bond straightened, while Q literally ducked beneath the desk.

“You’re in early.”

“You’re naked,” R managed weakly. “Do I want to know?”

“ _I told you we should go to my office_ ,” Q hissed, still fervently hiding. “R, I’m sorry.”

R nodded. She would need to bleach her retinas. “Erm… I’m going to go and get a coffee. You… you two… enjoy, I guess?”

Q let out a slight whimpering noise. Never in his life had he been so profoundly mortified, and please god let R not tell anybody.

(She was going to tell everybody, Q knew that, but it didn’t hurt to hope.)

R slid away, still mumbling darkly about coffee and giving them space and suggesting that Q was right and maybe they should go into Q’s office.

Q whimpered again.

The moment she had gone, he made a wild dash for the office, throwing himself in.

Bond had the audacity to  _saunter_.

“I hate you,” Q muttered, and slammed the door shut.


	847. Chapter 847

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much I love reading all your stuff! Second, so I had a really bad case of hiccups and my friend and I were thinking how badly it would suck if someone was trying to be stealthy but suddenly got the hiccups. Like Bond on a really sensitive mission, and he gets hiccups and Q is like you have *got* to be kidding me. Thank you! – undercover-spirker

_hic_

Q blinked. “What was that?”

Bond was on a very sensitive mission. It had taken two months to reach this stage, where Bond was close enough to the mark to be able to rip information from the mainframe computer and transfer it to Q, shortly followed by at least one silent death. Q would be able to establish who else needed to die once the information had been transferred.

On the screens in front of him, information was starting to gather.

_hic_

“Bond?”

“ _Hiccups_ ,” the agent breathed down the line.

Q stared blankly. His eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

_hic_

Good god, he wasn’t joking.

_hic_

“Bond, may I remind that this is an  _extremely_  important mission that requires a great deal of care and sensitivity?”

_hic_

“ _I know_ ,” Bond hissed back. “ _Not my fault_.”

_hic_

“Hold your breath or something!” Q managed, his voice close to squeaking, information filing quicker while the hiccups seemed to be the only thing Q was capable of hearing any more.

_hic_

“BOND.”

 _“Stop shouting_ ,” he snapped back. “ _I’m doing my best. Time?_ ”

“Forty seconds.”

_hic_

“I’m going to kill you, when you get back. Thirty seconds.”

“ _I – hic – am ready when you – hic – are_.”

“Slow death.”

 _“Q, not – hic – helpful_.”

“Ten seconds.”

Bond let out a sigh of obvious relief.

_hic_

“Three, two…”

_hic_

“One.”

Bond slid away from the computer, and ran as fast as he feasibly could, hiccupping all the way.


	848. Chapter 848

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE all your gorgeous writing! <3 I have a prompt if you haven’t done it yet: Teacher AU where 00Q work at the same high school w/ Bond as the swim coach & Q as the computer science teacher and they both have a tendency to flirt during school hours- a lot. ALL the students totally ship it. Cute & fluffy all around please! – anon

Mr Bond and Q – everybody just called him Q, it was something of a running joke that valiantly refused to die – were perhaps the most fervently shipped of any couple in the school to date. And that included Jenny and Mark, who couldn’t take their eyes off one another most of the time.

Q was generally a lot quieter about it all. Computer science was a fairly peaceful, almost reflective class; the students tended to be peaceful creatures with only some suggestions of latent malice, and actually, the students – especially the upper sixth – were fairly good friends with Q.

They certainly were all  _very_  excitable about the chances of their teachers getting together.

After all – Q smiled like a small child whenever Bond was around. It was written all over him.

Bond wasn’t even on school premises for a good deal of the time. He kept in touch by texting – and every single time his phone buzzed, Q grabbed at it and smiled, and his students snickered very slightly and lovingly mocked him.

“Ask him out, sir.”

Q glanced up from the phone, and blushed an impressive shade of scarlet. “I don’t believe I asked your opinion, Liz. Are you finished?”

“Nearly,” she replied, with bright obnoxiousness. “Sir, you…”

“Not a word,” Q warned. “You probably shouldn’t be commenting. And all of you stop  _smirking_.”

It helped that Q was a fairly young teacher, coming straight out of university and into teaching with barely a year between. It made him very popular – he didn’t have half the old-fashioned pretensions many of the staff had – and he was also one of the better staff for pastoral care.

Overall, it came as little surprise that half the school felt fairly comfortable suggesting and teasing Q about Mr Bond.

Another text. Q immediately turned attention to the phone, blushed a darker shade, and glanced back up with as much poise as he could muster. “All of you will fail the coursework element if you don’t go back to working  _right now_.”

Bloody sixth-formers.

“I’m done,” Andy waved; he was an almost painfully shy boy, who only tended to come alive in the few classes he truly enjoyed. One of which was IT, and the other of which was swimming.

With Bond.

“Let’s see…”

Q had to abandon the phone. It buzzed optimistically as he looked through Andy’s work, and Q pointedly ignored it while the class shared private smiles.

Bloody,  _sodding_  sixth-formers.


	849. Chapter 849

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been having a rough week and was wondering if you would write something fluffy? Bond keeps calling Q terms of endearment (love, sweetheart, beautiful, etc.) in the office and on missions but they’re not a couple. Then Q slips up and calls him “Darling” and, needless to say, James is smug. 00Q w/ no other ships if that’s ok. – anon

“I’m all yours, love,” Bond replied, and signed off.

Q didn’t really know what to make of it. Nobody else did, either; if it was flirting, it was a very odd type that seemed to presuppose Q’s response if he was ever asked out. It rather made it seem like they were already dating.

Really, Q wouldn’t have been surprised if they were, and Bond just hadn’t opted to tell him yet.

“So…” R asked, “… have we had any response from Bond as to  _why…_?”

“Nope,” Q said quickly. “And I think we’re unlikely to. I don’t know what’s going through that man’s mind.”

“Do you…”

“Not your business,” Q interrupted, voice very slightly high. “He’s… don’t you have paperwork to do?!”

Q all but ran into his office, leaving R to snigger.

-

“… yes darling, that’s fine,” Q muttered absentmindedly. “Car should be with you in two minutes maximum.”

The entirety of Q-branch was staring.

Q stared straight back. “Am I missing something?” he asked slowly. “Why are you all…”

“… what did you just call me?”

Bond’s smirk was audible. Q froze.

Fuck.

Q sighed; it had to happen eventually. At some stage, with his guard down, forgetting that Bond’s way of addressing him was  _not_  office appropriate and he should really have checked whether Bond ever _wanted_  a relationship before reciprocating (and yes, the logic of that made perfect sense in his head) and really this was all a bit of a mess and Q-branch were snickering (which he would deal with later).

“… nothing,” he said instead, which was perhaps the least convincing thing he had managed to say since lying about what happened to Mycroft’s goldfish when he was seven.

There was no doubting the smugness. “You called me ‘darling’.”

“I was distracted,” Q said, with absolutely none of the dignity he was valiantly grappling for. “You keep calling me ridiculous things, it’s no surprise I accidently reciprocated. Think nothing of it. And don’t mention it again, or I swear I’ll explode something remotely.”

“Q…”

Q shot livid looks at his minions. Their smiles dropped. It never boded well when their esteemed leader looked at them like that.

“Bond, if you keep pushing the subject…”

“… would you like to go out to dinner?”

Lucy – one of the younger minions – let out a  _ooh_  of cooing excitement. Q gave her an expression of pure, naked loathing.

Then, the question actually sank in.

Q paused a moment. The minions held their collective breaths.

“… thought you’d never ask,  _dear_ ,” Q replied, with a touch of lingering viciousness. “Pick me up at eight next Tuesday.”

Before Bond could say another word, Q disconnected.

“ _AND?_ ” he yelped at his branch.

Everybody scattered with lightning speed, leaving Q to sink with his head in his hands, palpably defeated.


	850. Chapter 850

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can see everyone warning Q away from Bond but nobody caring if Q hurts Bond. – anon

Somehow, it didn’t occur to anybody that Q could be callous, cruel, thoughtless. That Q would potentially cheat, or forget, generally not look after Bond in any way or form.

To be honest, nobody imagined Bond would need all that much looking after. The man was a legendarily independent human being. Bond could disappear off the end of most maps and be perfectly comfortable.

Q could never hurt James Bond. But Q was, at least in some regards, fragile; Bond was more than capable of hurting him.

When Q cheated on Bond with one of the medical staff, everybody found it shocking – but it seemed to not occur that Bond would be completely destroyed by it.

“… and you’re not even slightly listening,” Eve trailed off, watching Bond with a quietly concerned expression. “James.  _James_.”

Bond looked up at her. “Yes?”

“You’re not really with it today, are you?”

Eve’s expression moved from concerned to actively worried. Bond didn’t really know what to say. “I am not having a good day,” he said evasively. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Nothing of particular interest,” she shrugged. “What’s happened? I haven’t seen you like this in _years_.”

Bond wondered whether or not to speak. There was an understandable degree of reluctance; he was known for stoicism, and this particular problem was certainly outside the realms of what Eve or anybody would expect from him.

“Q cheated.”

Eve stared at Bond for a moment, eyebrows contracting. “So I heard,” she murmured, apparently not quite understanding. “Are you…”

“I’m not doing very well.”

Bond’s expression was nothing short of a challenge. Eve was perfectly comfortable with challenges. “I gathered,” she returned calmly. “And he’s…”

“… apologetic, ish.”

Eve took a long sip of coffee, waiting for Bond to elaborate. He didn’t elaborate. “Explain?” she prompted.

Bond took a moment, finding words. “I always considered cheating a betrayal.”

“It is.”

“I’ve never cheated,” Bond continued, still quite distant. “I couldn’t.”

Eve smirked very slightly. “You’ve never been with anybody long enough,” she pointed out; Bond shot a sharp glance in Eve’s direction, and she instantly sobered. “James, I’m sure it was a mistake.”

“I don’t doubt it, but if I had done this to Q, you’d have already punched me,” Bond snapped. “Q is no wilting flower, Eve, he knows what he’s doing – you know he’s more intelligent than both of us put together, he doesn’t make ‘mistakes’.”

“James…”

“Reverse the situation,” Bond reiterated. “Think about it – I cheat on Q. I’d be lynched, Eve, you  _know that_. Q, however… even you find excuses.”

Eve’s expression contracted slightly.

The pair sat in silence for a while.

“I’m sorry.”

Bond didn’t smile. “Good,” he replied, without vitriol. “I’m allowed to be  _fucking_  unhappy about it.”

Eve winced; Bond never really swore. It was curiously heartbreaking, the effect Q had managed, through simple lack of care or even realising.

Abruptly, Eve stood. “I’m going to have a word with him.”

Bond looked up at Eve, with the vaguest shade of amusement. “You are?”

Eve looked him up and down, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to be a hypocrite. Problem?”

Finally, Bond graced her with a true smile. “None whatsoever,” he replied lightly, and let Eve go, retreating back into himself with a sense of clawing sadness.


	851. Chapter 851

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Darlings! I love your writing so much! If you have time, could you do a prompt where all the double-ohs decided to “joke” with Q and during the missions their comms went silent. Q think that they are dead and he has a heart attack. Finally Q is lying in Medical and around him stand very sorry and ashamed agents :3 – anon

It was universal.

Everybody, in the space of a few minutes, had dropped completely off grid. There was no trace, not even the after-echoes that should have existed. Nothing but silence and the certain knowledge that something horrific had happened; Q’s equipment had glitched, or had broken, or  _something_. Either way, the onus was on Q, and something had gone impossibly wrong.

“R, I’m still receiving dead air here…”

R looked extremely tearful, unsurprisingly. 001 – her longterm girlfriend – was one of those whose equipment had gone dead. “I can’t bring them back online, according to this we should already be tapped in,” she told him frantically. “This is unprecedented…”

Q could feel his own hysteria mounting, his heartbeat shuddering in his chest, sheer terror.

Too fast. Too hard. Contracting painfully, body out of control.

For a second, Q could have sworn he heard a voice saying his name.

He passed out.

-

Waking up brought with it a situational amnesia that Q rather liked. It took several long minutes for him to remember, even in abstract terms, and when memory hit he was instantly awake and attempting to sit up.

It brought him face-to-face with a handful of extremely alive agents.

Q strongly considered passing out again. They were either hallucinations, or real, and neither option carried brilliant connotations. If they were alive, Q was going to kill them for scaring him so badly.

“We’re sorry,” Bond told Q softly, as Q stared at them. “Q, we were stupid, and…”

“ _You’re not dead_.”

Bond, Alec, 001 and 002 exchanged looks.

Q was going to kill them.

“It was only supposed to be…” Alec trailed off. Moneypenny – whom Q hadn’t initially noticed – poked him hard; he looked yet more apologetic, and continued: “We didn’t expect… I’m sorry, we’re sorry.”

Q narrowed his eyes. He was missing something. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

001 let out a slow, careful breath. “We…” she began, “we thought it might be… interesting… to see your reaction if we all went offline…”

“We fucked up,” Alec piped in. “We’re so sorry…”

Q blinked.

If he had got this right, he was going to kill them. Truly, honestly kill them.

“You  _bastards_ ,” he hissed. “You faked it? This was  _intentional_?!”

“Q…”

“Shut up, and get out,” he snapped. “ _Now_. I have no interest in anything you have to say. You are all irresponsible, infantile morons, and I can’t quite believe… I said  _GET OUT_.”

The agents scarpered, bar Moneypenny. Bond tried, but one look from Q and he, too, was out the door.

“There will be an investigation,” Q told Moneypenny flintily. “I want all of them facing a tribunal, and they will be tried as required. Yes?”

Eve nodded. “I understand,” she told him. “You have to rest for now. I’ll get everything started.”

Q nodded, eyes closing as she walked out, left him to rest and recover.

He had thought so much better of them all.


	852. Chapter 852

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMF, but could you take that Q/Allthe00’s scenario and have Q be in some kinda peril? Q gets kidnapped, held hostage, something or other – and the administration wants to put someone on the job and they’ve suddenly got no shortage of volunteers. Essentially just angry/protective 00’s rallying together, personality quirks and personal rivalries aside, to save the Quartermaster they all care for in their own ways. Bonus points: administration picks one agent & the 00’s vote to send 006&007 too. – anon

“001 will be going…”

There was a unanimous  _no_. 001 even conceded defeat; she was not going alone, and no power on earth would stop 006 and 007 from joining her. If that meant three double-oh agents on a single mission (for the first time since the 1940s), so be it.

M vaguely considered arguing. Realistically, there was little point. There would be some way of justifying it, he was sure – and at least the other agents had resolved to continue as they ought to be.

“… and if either of you are late…”

003 was ranting. Everybody was letting him; he was always the most vocal, and while it was usually deeply irritating, under the circumstances it was good to have a louder voice expressing everything they were thinking.

The videos trickling through to HQ were graphic. M got the agents on a plane within twelve hours.

The plane journey was difficult. “… and if you have any more alcohol I’m throwing both of you off this mission,” 001 was ranting, as she started to bring the plane into land. “If we want Q out alive…”

Bond nearly punched her. God knew he wanted Q back, more than anything.

Alec’s tablet – he had tablet where no other MI6 officer was allowed one, simply because he  _always_ brought equipment back in one piece and Q rewarded him on that basis – beeped with a new message.

“Is it Q?”

Alec didn’t respond for a moment, expression shifting slightly. “Yes,” he replied slowly. “It seems they’ve escalated… we’re running out of time…”

Bond’s mobile rang.

001 was concentrating on not crashing, deciding to ignore the fact that there should not have been active phones or electronics while landing.

“Hello?” Bond asked, and abruptly winced, holding the phone away from his ear. Alec looked over with something approaching amusement. “008,” he mouthed, and returned the phone to his ear. “You’re in deep cover, we couldn’t disturb you…”

Neither 008 or 009 knew about Q, yet. Apparently, somebody had got hold of 008. 008 was less than impressed.

“… we’re dealing with it,” Bond told her, with laudable calm. “Go back to your mission, it’ll be fine. We will get back in touch when Q is safely home.”

Bond hung up, before 008 could say anything else. In the same instant, the plane touched down, and 001 let out a slow breath. “Everybody ready?” she asked, seeing the armed personnel already traipsing towards the plane. “We have a welcome committee.”

“Ready and waiting.”

“We’ll get him back,” 001 reminded Alec, as he let out a breath, staring out through the reinforced windscreen at the approaching security with a palpable sense of worry. “It’ll be alright.”

Alec took a breath, smirked, and pulled out his Sig. “I know. Here goes.”

The three exchanged glances, grinned, opened the sealed hatch, and stepped out into the hail of bullets that greeted them.


	853. Chapter 853

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I get a fic where Q is on the waiting list for a lung transplant and Bond is his on-call nurse who looks after him for a couple of hours a day and, for the first time in his cold and clinical career, is devastated by his patient’s suffering? – anon

“Good evening,” Q greeted, as Bond poked his head around the door of his tiny room. “Was beginning to wonder where you were.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I’m barely late.”

“Ten minutes or so, and you’re always religiously on time,” Q explained, with a shrug. “So what happened?”

Q was one of Bond’s favourite patients. Funny, sharp, not inclined towards histrionics despite having every reason to be: dying is a difficult thing, and Q was doing just that. Slowly, but certainly, heading headlong towards the moment when his body finally gave out while waiting for the double set of lungs could replace his own ailing ones; a lifetime of illness, cystic fibrosis eating away his lungs and half the rest of him, and now the final straw.

Bond watched Q’s body convulse with the hacking cough both of them were far too used to hearing.

“Trains,” Bond lied easily, letting the word slip easily from his tongue. Q visibly didn’t buy it, but didn’t press the point. “You look terrible.”

Q grinned. It was something of a running joke; Bond took the piss out of Q in general, and Q mocked him for his age and occasionally intelligence. Q was something of a prodigy, after all.

“Yes, but I have an excuse, unlike some.”

Bond winced. “Terrible come-back,” he snorted. “Try harder. So – let’s have a look at your vitals, shall we?”

They talked a little, while Q lasted through the usual battery of tests. Bond was on the night staff; he was there for the twilight hours and the nights where Q couldn’t sleep, body wracked with coughs and choked sounds and sobs and the constant desperate frustration of never being quite able to sleep.

Q did not have all that long left. It broke Bond’s heart to watch.

“Maybe tomorrow,” they said to one another, in the full knowledge that they were lying to themselves and each other in the space of two words

Maybe it  _would_  be tomorrow, but it seemed less and less likely.

Bond couldn’t remember the last time he had been so attached to a patient. The boy – and he was a boy, truly, not quite a man – had a great deal of palpable brilliance. Incredible intelligence, evidenced in some of the computer work he did when he was well enough; he wanted to go into computing.

First, he needed to survive.

Q fell into the first stages of sleep, while Bond did the rest of his ward round, watching over the patients he cared for and truly wished nothing but happiness for. It was Bond’s job to be clinical; while a certain level of rapport was always reached, it had to reach an endpoint.

Too many people died on Bond’s watch, with nothing he could do to stop it. Attachment would prove devastating.

Then there was Q.

“Hold my hand,” he said, as Q woke in the night with his lungs making a bid for freedom, coughing violently.

Q held it, fingers weak and spindly.

Bond held back for dear life.

Maybe tomorrow.


	854. Chapter 854

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q used to be the youngest double oh ever (he was a double oh before Bond was). He “died” while saving Bond on their first mission together. After a couple years, Q come back as ‘Q’ and Bond reacts. (could be angst or fluff, it doesn’t matter) – anon

“Double-oh eight?!”

Q froze.

This was not going to be good.

“… double-oh seven,” Q greeted, with a strangely awkward thing that ought to have been a smile but managed not to be; he turned his attention back to the painting in front of him, wondering – with a touch of hysteria – whether he still had the option of pretending to be somebody else.

“You’re dead.”

“Not quite.”

Bond sat down heavily, tension riddling his body. Q couldn’t really blame him. The last time Bond had seen him, Q had been carted off the medical evac, never to be seen again and officially recorded as dead. Bond’s very first mission.

(They had slept together on that mission. More than once. Q blushed most of the way to his toes at the recollection).

“I thought you were dead.”

“Yes, that’s more accurate,” Q nodded. “I don’t have much I can say, on this front. It was necessary at the time, for a number of reasons. I apologise unreservedly for any distress…”

“…  _any distress_ ,” Bond hissed, a shade too loud for a public gallery. “You were  _dead_. I was responsible for you.”

Q arched an eyebrow. “I was your superior officer, I think you’ll find that  _I_  was responsible for both of us,” he returned primly. “As it happened, the way to ensure our safety was the feigned-death incident. Not what I had intended, I would like to add, but necessary all the same.”

“You could have contacted me afterwards.”

Bond looked genuinely upset. Not just petulant or angry, but genuinely  _upset_ , as though Q truly had managed to do damage. “I considered getting in touch once the smoke had cleared,” Q mused, “but it seemed increasingly unlikely that it never would. Hence I am no longer on field work, and it would have been foolish to contact you. Now, onto the mission at hand…”

“… and you’re now Quartermaster.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re…”

“Finish that sentence, and I will kill you.”

Bond didn’t doubt it. He still had vivid memories of the man in action; Q was one of the few agents Bond remembered with nothing but respect. He had been  _brilliant_.

And now, his Quartermaster.

Such a strange world.

“All of us die once in a while,” Q reminded him quietly, wryly. “Necessary sacrifices. New beginnings.”

Bond looked at him. Truly looked.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

Q hesitated, his assessment transparent, the thoughts flicking. It was probably a bad idea, if he was being honest; Bond was a loose cannon, Q was juggling identities and a very demanding job, both had histories of destroying people they loved.

“Alright,” Q nodded, blithely ignoring all better judgement. “Drinks.”


	855. Chapter 855

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Q has to go undercover and runs into a DoubleOh who accidentally blows his cover and Q has to save them both? Maybe James gets shouty with the other DoubleOh when he finds out about the snafu? – alovelyocean

Q was gliding about under the name of Henry Walker – a suitably anonymous name that he rather liked wearing, on occasion – and networking gloriously. There were four separate and distinct drugs rings working the floor, grasping at information, forging new connections.

Naturally, Q was insinuating himself with the background players, those with money and a dash more influence than the lackeys. At present, he was standing with a particularly excellent gentleman whom Q knew to be trafficking more than heroin over the borders.

008 was not in Q’s remit. 008 was working an entirely separate job, being managed by one of Q’s juniors who – in a supposedly quiet mission – should have probably clocked already that Q would be in attendance.

It happened almost instantly. 008 walked up to them with a glass of champagne and, in a moment of crass stupidity, uttered a single letter.

“Excuse me?” Q asked lightly, feigning confusion.

The mark glanced between the two of them, his features darkening. “You are  _fucking_  kidding me,” he hissed. “I  _knew_  you looked familiar.”

Q looked at 008 with bored irritation. “Well then,” he said dangerously. “That’s  _that_  scuppered. Bear with me, this will be unpleasant.”

With that, Q shot the mark through the centre of his forehead.

Naturally, all hell broke loose. In the instant pandemonium, Q was able to duck out of immediate sight, grabbing onto 008 and pulling him backwards with a cry of supposed shock.

It was actually rather impressive. Everybody looked at the body, those around, and either reached for their own guns or panicked outright. Q’s gun – or whatever the hell he’d used – didn’t seem visible which 008 just found extremely confusing as he grabbed his own out.

They ran for it while panic reigned. It was a surprisingly clean get-out under the circumstances.

“You,” Q panted, as they slid into Q’s car, “are a fucking  _idiot_.”

“Drive.”

Q spared a moment for an eye roll. “No shit,” he muttered, and reversed the car directly  _into_  the men who were beginning to chase; there was a colossal noise as flesh and bone hit metal, and then Q floored the accelerator.

008 could see why 007 was quite so fond. The Quartermaster was  _impressive._

008 was going to be in deep shit for a very long time.


	856. Chapter 856

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, love you’re stuff!!! So Bond uses Q’s crush on him to get extra tech, upgrade flights etc. He gets warned off by various people but he doesn’t listen. Not until he takes it too far and Q can’t stand the sight of him. – anon

“You’re pushing your luck,” Eve told him, looking almost uncomfortable as Bond sauntered out with a shiny new handgun. “Bond, you’re lying to him, manipulating him… it’s not fair.”

Bond grinned, utterly charming, disarmingly so. It was that grin, his smile, that made Q melt. It had a substantial effect on Eve, certainly at the beginning. Everybody fell prey to his charm and eventually came round wondering why in the hell they let James Bond steamroller them quite so completely.

Q was one of them, and had yet to realise what a manipulative arsehole Bond could be.

“Q.”

Q glanced up at Eve, raising an eyebrow. “How can I help you, Miss Moneypenny?” he smiled, looking so  _young_. There was no denying that Q was an extraordinary individual, and an excellent Quartermaster, but every once in a while Eve looked at him and couldn’t quite believe how young he was.

“This…  _thing_  with Bond.”

Instantly, the tension in Q’s body ramped up a little. “Have you been talking to R?” he asked immediately. “I know everybody takes the piss out of it, but I’m perfectly happy, and he’s happy, so…”

“He’s using you.”

“We have an understanding.”

Eve let out a frustrated sigh. “Q, you keep giving him ever more complicated things, and  _he is straight_. Bond has  _explicitly_  said he has no interest in men. He knows you like him, we all do, and he’s using you.”

For a long moment, Q was very, very still. Eve could only watch him, trying to keep sympathy from looking outright condescending, and waited.

Q let out a slow, controlled breath. “Thank you.”

Eve stalled a bit, her smile uncertain and unhappy. “I just don’t want to see you hurt,” she told him honestly.

Another breath, a small nod. Q’s voice was tight, but still laudably controlled. “Understood. Thank you, Eve. Really. Thank you for being honest.”

Eve did something between a shrug and a nod, and tactfully left, leaving Q a moment in private.


	857. Chapter 857

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! All of your prompts are so wonderful, I was wondering if I could ask for one :) If you have the time can you please write a Mafia Boss!Q with right-hand woman!Eve and Bond being the secret agent that is caught trying to assassinate Q? Thank you so much in advance you’re amazing! – starbuckybarnes

Q breathed out a puff of smoke, and promptly coughed inelegantly.

Eve smirked “Not with your asthma, boss.”

Q looked to the cigarette in disdain. “I don’t know what he sees in them…”  
  
“Cancer, probably,” Eve replied, plucking the cigarette from Q’s hands and taking a long drag. “Now, what are we going to do about him?” 

The pair turned to the two way mirror, watching as the agent regained consciousness. It was quite endearing to watch: the man went immediately still, stiff, as he realised he was waking. Inch by inch, his body relaxed again, feigning at sleep that he’d long since betrayed. The slight strain at the wrists and ankles as he tested the strength and indeed the simple presence of the cuffs; Q liked it, watching the muscle rise and fall in his arms as he pulled against them.

Q hummed slightly. “Well. I suppose we’ll eventually have to kill him, but I’ve wanted an eye into MI6 for a while – this might be the moment to start putting those elements of plans into action.”

Eve raised an eyebrow. “He hardly seems the type to turn.”

“They never do,” Q reminded her, with a murmuring softness to his voice, reminding Eve of her own distant beginnings. It felt like years ago, now. “Is the injury dealt with?”

“He’ll need physio, but the wound itself is dealt with,” Eve assured him, standing in unison with her boss. “May I?”

Q glanced at her, and gave her a rare smile. “I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t. I’d prefer if you could play victim, as it were; it may give us leverage, he has a history with beautiful women.”

“You flatter me.”

“Yes, I do,” Q agreed, and pushed the door open into the small holding cell; his voice continued, sailing a little higher. “Good afternoon, Mr Bond. So nice of you to join us. Valiant effort, I might add – you are the closest assassin in recent history to achieving your aim – but regrettably, not quite good enough. I have an excellent team.”

Eve smirked invisibly. She had been the one to take him out, not that the agent was likely to remember.

“I think tea is in order.”

A snap of fingers, and Eve adopted the right stance, the right angle. She scurried away, looking precisely as Q intended: subjugated, not quite a ‘victim’ but reluctant. Enough to cause the slightest narrowing of Bond’s eyes as he watched her go, as his overdeveloped hero complex found a young lady and started considering ways out.

This was going to be amusing.

“So, James,” Q continued, “I may call you James? I have some questions for you…”


	858. Chapter 858

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I propose we just have Bond kicking the shit out of Silva first. And then Q can be a BAMF. And then, they kiss. Anyone’s with me? – anon

Q’s eyes widened. He knew in the abstract that Bond was perfectly capable of killing a man with his bare hands, but watching it was quite something else entirely. From his position, chained to a rather expensive chair, he was able to watch as Bond punched his adversary in the face – dislocating the man’s jaw implant.

“Don’t kill him!” Q yelled, voice harsh from screaming. “Bond!”

Bond paused, chest shuddering. “This is not somebody who deserves additional warnings,” he ground out.

“That’s not my point,” Q managed, body deflating slightly as Silva groaned elaborately on the ground, barely conscious. “We need him for questioning. He’s more important alive, now. We need a medical team…”

Q hadn’t noticed the slur in his voice, the exhaustion that threaded through him; he had been in Silva’s custody for five days or so, and he could feel the imprint of every single one. “Q?”

“I’m fine, get me off this chair,” he ordered Bond, trying to keep the shaking out.

Freed, and Q was delighted to discover he could stand unaided. Walking was difficult (impossible, but Bond was kind enough not to comment) but it was certainly gratifying to walk over to Silva’s now-bound form, look him over, and stamp very hard on his dominant hand.

Bond raised an eyebrow. Q raised his own hand – fingers snapped back carefully, lovingly, a gift from one computer genius to another. “I hope MI6 fucking  _mangle_  them,” he muttered at Silva’s prone form.

Q would actually put in a request to interrogators to wreck Silva’s fingers. They did. Q waited for his own fingers to recover slowly, carefully, week on week and felt no apology for the surge of vengeful  _joy_ he had, knowing Silva would never type again, would never interfere and  _wreck_  Q’s work again.

“Another ten minutes for evac,” Bond noted, as Q gave up the standing battle and sank into a comfier chair, undamaged hand snaking to the keyboard. “What are you…”

“Making sure,” Q muttered under his breath, typing far slowly than it would usually have been, but steady and constant all the same. “I’m not going through this debacle again,  _ever_ …”

A few keystrokes, and Q’s arm fell back, his eyes falling shut.

He was exhausted. Truly, desperately exhausted. His fingers and ribs and abdomen and head hurt like hell, and he just wanted to go home and sleep for an extremely long time with the possible aid of some Medical-grade morphine.

Head sliding down, Bond’s hand on his throat, checking his pulse. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, Bond ignoring him utterly. “I’m  _fine_.”

“Good,” Bond replied, and placed a kiss on Q’s lips.

Q spent a moment feeling very surprised. There wasn’t room for much other than surprise. He stilled slightly, computed what on earth was going on, and felt himself respond on happy instinct: James Bond was kissing him. It could have been a lot worse. An hour or so ago, it  _had_  been a lot worse.

Outside, Q could hear the steady chopping of helicopters, and smiled against Bond’s lips.

Home.


	859. Chapter 859

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hii darlings, first of all, congrants on your engagement!! i’m soo happy for you two. Now, can i have a fic where Q keeps rejecting James giving him a lot of excuses because he has a lot of alergies and does not want Bond to know or getting an alergic attack in the date or so, and when James find out think that’s really cute. Pretty pleasee!! Thank you, you are really great! Lots of love!! – queen-of-pudding

“Epi pen?” Bond asked, watching as Q picked up his bag; the damn thing had fallen, scattering papers everywhere.

Q blushed, grabbing the medication from Bond’s hands and shoving it into his satchel.  “I have, well. I have a few allergies,” he told Bond primly, refusing to look up properly.

“Anything exciting?” Bond asked, smirking at his young Quartermaster. Fear of planes, heights, asthma and now allergies – it was a miracle the man had survived so much of life.

Q glanced up at him briefly, shrugged. “Several things. Food things, mostly, and cross contamination’s a  _bitch_  and the peanut thing is airborne so I have to carry this around in case anybody has a bloody _peanut butter sandwich_  and I cannot tell you how irritating that is…”

“Peanuts?”

“Amongst other things,” Q repeated, ever more evasive. “Look, I’m sure you have at least a dozen jokes ready and raring to go, but I’m not in the mood, I’m late, and I’m sorry to let you down again with regards to dinner…”

Bond abruptly thought. “Hang on,” he realised, everything making a good deal more sense all of a sudden. “Is  _this_  why you won’t have dinner?”

Q froze.

Bond had asked him out, to date, six times. On each one, Q had found increasingly bizarre excuses as to why they couldn’t go to dinner. It had nothing to do with Bond – that much had been confirmed through a very intensive make-out session on Q’s desk – but for some reason, dating had been off the cards.

Mostly because going out to dinner was Q’s idea of hell. Almost everywhere Q went, there was something that would trigger an allergic response or at the very  _least_  indigestion and honestly, Bond mocked him enough as it was so a histrionic response to lettuce (one infamous occasion – Q had never found out what they’d done to said lettuce to trigger anaphylaxis) was not ideal.

“Q,” Bond asked slowly, “would you like me to cook you dinner?”

Q looked at Bond sharply. “Run that by me again?”

“Tell me what you’re allergic to, and I’ll cook you dinner,” Bond repeated. “I’m an excellent cook.”

There was a long and uncomfortable moment of silence. Bond didn’t seem to blanch. Q found it somewhat weird. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Truly, Bond didn’t look even slightly fazed. “I can finally have dinner with you,” he shrugged. “I’d consider it an honour.”

Q blinked.

Bond waited.

“… okay,” Q replied slowly. “Okay. That would be… lovely, actually. Nobody’s ever… I mean, thank you.”

Bond leaned in, and kissed him.

Q honest-to-god melted where he stood.

Unnoticed, Q’s bag slid sideways, malevolently disgorging all its contents once again.


	860. Chapter 860

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Could trouble you with a prompt? It’s kind of personal, but I have recently begun identifying as asexual and I know there’s quite a lot of asexual!Q stories out there, but mainly its all gone smoothly and Bond’s been really understanding… but that just hasn’t really been my experience. So could you write something where they’re together and Bond knows Q is asexual, but just doesn’t really get it? He still sort of expects sex, but Q is hugely uncomfortable with it. Thank you so much. – anon

Q really, truly hated the ‘I’m asexual’ conversation, given that it seemed to only very rarely go well. True, he had only broached it with a few people – a very close friend or two, and his would-be partners – and the latter category tended to take it a lot worse than the former.

After all, Q’s friends didn’t really need to worry if they’d be sexually or physically fulfilled. It wasn’t their problem.

However, talking to the rampantly sexual James Bond was far harder, as he really didn’t seem to have the faintest idea what it meant.

Example: they are in bed, kissing fairly passionately. Q doesn’t mind this bit; it’s intimate, and not especially arousing, but the sheer fact of Bond’s palpable enjoyment seeps into Q’s blood and bones and he enjoys it simply for that.

Bond seems somewhat shocked that Q isn’t aroused. “… I’m asexual,” Q repeats, as though Bond is very stupid. “I really don’t find this… not like that, I just don’t get aroused in this sort of context.”

“You had an erection this morning.”

Q feels like bashing his head against a wall. “Well yes but mental and physical does not always align,” he points out. “It’s not like a don’t have a sex drive, or can’t orgasm or whatever, and actually I  _do_ sometimes masturbate just for the hell of it but I do not have really any sexual engagement right now.”

It feels like a variation on a theme, and Q doesn’t really know how to describe it properly. His attitude to sex with other people is fairly consistent – not something he wants to engage in – but he is a young man, his body does what it likes, and he likes orgasms as much as the next person and that’s hard, really hard to try and reconcile when there’s a beautiful man in his bed that he just doesn’t want to be anywhere near right in this second.

Thus, Q was reminded that he really, truly hated the ‘I’m asexual’ conversation.

And Bond just did not understand.

“James, I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”

Bond paused slightly, expression slightly constricting. “And what about what I want?” he asked, with an edge to his voice that suggested more than idle curiosity. “You don’t like it, fine. I do. I want a sexual relationship with my boyfriend. Why is this only about what  _you_  want?”

“It’s different…”

“How, exactly?”

“ _Not_  having sex doesn’t make you  _actively unhappy_.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “And you know that how, exactly? It’s very important to me. It’s being intimate with somebody you care about. I’d understand if you didn’t want a one-night fucking stand but it’s not, we’re dating, Q. And like it or not, most normal people would consider sex one of the distinctions between friends and lovers. There’s a lot of reasons to have sex rather than just a random ejaculation, I want to feel close to you.”

“Believe me, we’ll be far fucking closer if you respect what I need and want.”

“And again, what about what  _I_  want?!”

Q could see everything falling apart. Again. It always did. Always does. Just when he dares to think it might be better, it’s proven not to be in frankly spectacular fashion, and there’s nothing left for Q to do but pick up whatever pieces are left and move on. “You should go.”

Bond looks floored. “What?”

“You heard. Go. If you don’t… if this is a deal-breaking, then fine. I respect your decision. But I am not going to have sex with you, and if you really feel sex is  _such_  an integral part of a relationship, then I am not somebody you want.”

“But…”

“I said  _go_.”

Q small part of Q still hoped, still dared to hope – but Bond did as everybody else did.

Dressed in silence, and left.


	861. Chapter 861

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you possibly write a 00Q AU based on the film Knight and Day, I just think they would be hilarious in that situation. – anon

Q’s eyes drifted open, and drifted shut again.

“Q.”

Open. Everything was somewhat foggy. A man was hanging upside down.

“Q, listen to me.”

Q tried very hard to keep his eyes open, and more or less failed.

The man in front of him was the very good-looking man on the flight (Q’s entire body shuddered dramatically) who had guided them through a plane crash (Q nearly retched) and then told him they were being pursued by international terrorists.

Really, the last bit was less than surprising. Q had anticipated that, eventually, somebody would track him down.

“Q, it’ll be alright.”

Cracking his eyes back open, Q smiled at the swinging figure. “James, isn’t it?” he mumbled, or tried to mumble. Speaking was not a strong point. “Whass’going…”

“Just keep on breathing, and I’ll get us out of this,” Bond assured him, swinging back to the right again like a large human-shape pendulum. “You have to…”

His voice melted away again, and Q let out a slight sigh of satisfaction as black ate him up again.

-

The next day or so was a montage. Q was reasonably certain they flew in another plane. A boat may have been involved. It was now too bloody sunny, and Q was  _not_ in the same clothes he started off in.

Warily, Q sat himself upright.

From the water, putting Mr Darcy to shame, James Bond walked out with sea water glittering off his unbelievably muscular torso, and Q felt all the blood in his body rush southwards. “ _Fuck_ ,” he managed, before realising he was in shorts.

Bond walked up to him, utterly calm. “How are you feeling?”

Q blinked. “How am I in shorts?”

“ _That’s_  your first question?” Bond asked, palpably bemused.

“Seemed a good place to start. You saw me naked.”

“I was simply performing a necessary act,” Bond returned calmly, expression still betraying that he thought Q may have been a little mentally lacking. “I didn’t look.”

Q raised an eyebrow. He was trying very hard to think about anything that didn’t involve Bond’s body, which was fairly difficult on a beach with nobody else visible and the vague understanding that something in Q’s life had just changed completely.

A moment of awkward silence.

“So… what happened?”

Bond looked a dash relieved. “We were captured, I got us out. We’re now in a fully safe location, nobody can find us here – off all records.”

“Do you have any computer equipment?”

“Yes,” Bond nodded, “would be difficult to keep surveillance or up-to-date information otherwise. Why?”

Q shrugged lopsidedly. “I’m dreadful at beaches, I get bored,” he explained lightly. “So before I become unbearable…”

Bond snorted slightly. “You must be the only person I’ve ever met who’d find themselves on an abandoned beach which could be on almost any continent, having been abducted, two days after a plane crash,” – Q flinched violently – “and then have their only comment to be that they don’t want to get bored.”

Q blinked. “Problem?”

“… no,” Bond conceded. “It’s just weird.”

Q beamed obnoxiously. “That’s me. Now you can explain the rest of it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Bond nodded, handed him what smelt and tasted remarkably like a pina colada, and began to explain.


	862. Chapter 862

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has adhd – anon

The hyperactivity was by far the most notable thing: Q was near enough incapable of sitting still, always had been from the first moment Bond met him. Stood upright well enough, but with his foot tapping, body moving from screen to desk to keyboard and back again, twitching slightly as he worked.

It was only with time that Bond could see the rest.

It was a damn good thing Q was able to delegate; it allowed him to avoid the painfully boring tasks that Q-branch occasionally threw up, which realistically, Q would never have had the patience to do on his own. Q couldn’t do boring. Q couldn’t do meetings, half the time, and wound up distracting himself with laces of coding while the dullness of meetings ticked onwards.

“… did you hear a word of that?”

Q glanced up. “Hmm? You were rambling, I don’t like excuses.”

Bond blinked. “You didn’t listen to any of it?”

“I tuned out fairly quickly.”

“Some of it was important.”

“I doubt it,” Q returned, still absorbed in whatever it was that was managing to hold his interests. “If it was, somebody will have emailed me a brief and I’ll deal with it then.”

Q was still entirely unable to stay still. His leg bounced up and down, eyes darting from place to place.

Bond watched him for a moment. “You’re not especially good at staying still, are you?”

“ADHD.”

“What?”

Q glanced up curiously. “ADHD. You must have heard of it.”

“In passing,” Bond conceded, “but I always assumed it was a convenient title for badly behaved kids.”

A small laugh. “I suppose yes, to an extent, but regrettably I managed to keep it all the way into adulthood. Pain in the arse, I might add. Not exactly what you want when trying to climb through bureaucratic circles – they tend to like people who can stand the tedium – but there we have it. Being a genius has its perks. Including the ability to skip several steps of corporate tedium and be classed as ‘eccentric’ if all else fails.”

“You’re modest,” Bond smirked. “Genius?”

Q raised a mildly offended eyebrow. “Are you so surprised? You’ve seen my work. Of course I’m a genius. Now go away, I have work to do.”

“Dinner?”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“I didn’t mean right this moment,” Bond corrected, with a rather dramatic eye roll. “I meant some evening when you’re not working.”

Q glanced up again, attention successfully diverted. “Hang on. Are you asking me out on a date?” he verified, looking over Bond for signs of a lie, a mockery. “Bloody hell, you are. Well – yes, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Don’t push your luck. Eight this evening, I’ll pick you up – I have a nicer car than you.”

Bond looked truly, honestly side-swiped.  _Nobody_  had a better car than him.

Q smiled, all teeth, and returned to his computer.


	863. Chapter 863

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if this has been asked for but I was listening to Maroon 5’s Animals, and I /needed/ a 00Q fic desperately. I could totally see Q trying to resist James and pretending like he doesn’t need him, but James is relentless and they both /need/ each other. Possibly NSFW? I’d owe you cookies and flowers. :) – anon

There was a certain desperation to the way Bond finally,  _finally_ , drove his way into Q’s body, Q writhing beneath him with stuttering gasps of want, coaxing him deeper, demanding and utterly unrelenting.

Weeks. Months, even. Bond persisting despite Q’s valiant attempts to ward him off.

The thing was, neither of them really  _wanted_  to be warded off. Q liked Bond, at the heart of it; he was intelligent, quick, fun. His attitude to equipment and technology in general was enough to make Q wince slightly, but on the whole it could have been considerably worse and really, Q could  _breathe_  when Bond was around. It made his pulse quicken, just being in the vicinity.

Bond knew full well that Q was good for him. He needed a challenge, once in a while.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Q muttered, as Bond dropped what remained of a pen onto his desk. “Quite honestly, Bond, this is getting a little ridiculous. You’re taunting me.”

“Not at all, Quartermaster.” Bond’s smile was just contagious, teeth bared in two neat rows. “Why on earth would I be taunting you?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “You enjoy doing things like that?”

Bond considered for a moment. “True. The pen was an accident, though.”

“Liar.”

There was a moment of both of them smirking a bit, and then they were on each other like animals. Neither really registered who started it or why they started, or what was really going on, but somehow they slammed themselves into Q’s desk, Bond chucking things to one side – Q made a token noise of protest – and stripping one another with rather extraordinary speed.

Q had no idea where the lube came from, but didn’t really have the attention span to ask. Bond had hands everywhere at once, Q kissing every inch of him he could reach, Bond’s hand wrapping smoothly around his cock and stroking, slick and perfect, none of the roughness Q would expect from a man like James Bond.

One of Bond’s fingers teasing against his hole, and Q let out a frantic moan, malleable in Bond’s hands; he almost bit back, almost snapped for more, pinned down by a hand that knew exactly what it was doing while the other played Q into frank insanity. Never quite breaching, just circling, taunting him with it.

Q broke free of Bond’s grip to all but launch himself upwards, mouth finding Bond’s, sat half-upright on his clutter free desk with Bond’s hand supporting his back, his own hands clinging onto Bond, wrapping around his head, his shoulders, kissing him with almost dangerous intensity.

“Bond,  _fuck_ , Bond…”

“Call me James.”

“ _James_.”

The slightest of pressure, the suggestion of it, and Q was all but screeching for more. “Are you ready?” Bond breathed against his ear, hot, tickling, teeth grazing his earlobe. “Q?”

“Fuck, I’m going to come.”

“That’s the idea,” Bond chuckled, and Q had no idea how he was managing what he was doing because there was no  _way_  Bond could be holding him up, stroking both his own and Q’s cock, playing with his entrance and kissing him with enough passion to take his breath away. It wasn’t  _possible_ , and yet Q was crying out the kind of orgasm that wracked his entire body, and Bond was letting out a shout of his own.

Q had never felt anything like it.

Both men sank floorwards, Q curled into Bond, both slick and sticky, waiting for their heartbeats to settle.


	864. Chapter 864

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a story where James and Q already knew each other pre-skyfall, and when James said, “You have got to be joking,” in the National Gallery, it was because he wasn’t expecting his psuedo-nephew to be his new Quartermaster? And then Q kinda makes life difficult for James later as revenge for “dying” and not sending so much as a postcard like he normally does. – randomanime-lover

“… you have got to be joking.”

Q was not smiling. Bond honestly couldn’t blame him; he had behaved poorly, never letting one the few people in his life that he could call ‘close’ that he was alive. Bond dropped off the radar for months. Presumed dead.

“I mourned for you.”

Q was pointedly not looking at him, instead fixing on the painting. He was memorising every brushstroke, rather than try to stay calm while looking at somebody who had willingly faked his own death, and had been selfish enough to not let Q know.

“I couldn’t…”

“Don’t even try it,” Q interrupted. “You and I both know you could have done, you simply chose not to. Now, double-oh seven, your equipment and mission brief. I will expect updates, given your habit of vanishing. You report to me.”

Bond smiled, very slightly. “You joined MI6 after all. You said you wouldn’t.”

“I said a lot of things, and all of them are now dated,” Q returned shortly. “Do not try and suggest any fault on my part; it was your decision to leave, and this is the consequence: we havea working relationship, and nothing more.”

“Q…”

“Do not even  _attempt_  to convince me of anything otherwise,” Q told him, standing, bag slung over his shoulder. “Good luck, double-oh seven. I’m going to make your life hell. Starting with your salary, and your car.”

Bond looked immediately stricken. “You can’t take my car,” he managed petulantly. “That’s just…”

“Unfair? Try mourning somebody you care about for several months, only to discover he was on holiday. You weren’t even doing anything  _helpful_. Your car is mine, and you get nothing nice. You’ll be in a Ford KA for a while. Pre-owned. Twice. With a dodgy brake pad.”

It was possibly the worst thing imaginable. Bond could almost feel tears springing into his eyes.

It seemed a little disproportionate for a faked death.

Q smiled, all teeth, and sauntered out of the gallery without a backwards glance.

Bond realised he was going to have to do a  _hell_  of a lot of grovelling.


	865. Chapter 865

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: In a world where anything out of the ordinary is hated and despised, Q has wings. Bond finds out. How it ends is up to you. – anon

Body broken beyond recognition, it followed that the one thing Q had expend the most mental and physical energies towards – the prevention of his wings – broke, and his wings were now spread in piles of blood, dirt, and feathers.

To his credit, Bond didn’t comment, not at first. He saw his compromised target, and his first battle was simply getting him to safety while several-foot-long wings got in the way.

“Bond…”

“Can you retract them?”

Q, exhausted, shook his head. “I tried,” he mumbled, body at its end. “I really tried, they…”

“I know,” Bond told him simply. “I know. We need to get you out, before anybody comes back.”

“I can’t.”

“Well, I can’t move you until the wings are gone.”

Q let out a soft whimper, shifted; the wings twitched slightly, Q letting out a long breath, slow and controlled.

The wings gradually slid out of sight, and Bond nodded briskly. “Well done. Arms around my neck, we’re leaving.”

Bond guided Q into his arms, barely coordinated, the young man holding on with whatever energy he still had; they made it out of the building, into the back of a waiting truck Bond had acquired earlier that day. Bond slid his way into the driver’s seat, flooring the accelerator at the same time Q’s wings once again extended.

“I can’t see the rearview mirror,” Bond snapped.

Q did not respond. A quick glance backwards saw a very unconscious Q, breathing uncertain and tremulous, feathers blowing gently.

-

Q opened his eyes, turned his head to one side.

Bond looked at him.

“This isn’t Medical.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Did you want Medical to know about the wings? I thought it probably wasn’t ideal.”

Q was very still. Presumably, Bond thought, he was waiting for Bond to demonstrate the usual profound horror that greeted anything so palpably abnormal. Only a few people had ever seen them. His parents had disowned him. His first boyfriend very nearly vomited. His second boyfriend was terrified, and then livid at him for concealing them so long.

“And you’re…”

Bond shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of very strange things.”

“This isn’t strange. This isn’t just something abnormal. This is something outright fucking  _bizarre_  and everybody hates it, it frightens people, it’s  _wrong._  I’m wrong. There is something intrinsically wrong with me, and I don’t understand how you’re taking this so well,” he ranted, breaking off into a string of coughing, IV hooked up into his arm. Bond did a very good line in medical issues.

They both fell quiet. Bond just looked at Q for a long moment, waiting for him to say anything more exciting. “… wings. I have wings.”

“I noticed.”

“ _How are you okay with this?_ ”

“Would you like me not to be?” Bond asked him, politely. “I can be disgusted if you want.”

Q blinked, gaped, shook his head. It was possibly the most bizarre moment of his life to date. “So do any doctors…”

“Nope, just me,” Bond interjected, before Q could finish. “So you can stay here until you’re well, and then we’ll come back on-grid and nobody will be any the wiser. Is that alright by you?”

Q nodded. “… thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond replied, and returned attention to a book Q hadn’t noticed him holding, leaving Q to fall asleep again with the extraordinary sensation of being truly, honestly, safe.


	866. Chapter 866

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New fan here, requesting something involving Q and the ‘thingsfittingperfectlyintothings’ tumblr. Bond is highly amused. – feathasthekitten

Q was knotted into his office chair in such a way that not a single limb extended over the edges of said chair, feet somewhere close to his face and knees non-existent, back arched over, and Bond was convinced it couldn’t be comfortable.

“… Q?”

The Quartermaster glanced up, and looked at Bond with vague confusion. “You’re back.”

“As expected.”

“But you’re  _on time_ ,” Q managed, blinking. “Well. Hello, double-oh seven. Congratulations on a successful mission.”

“How are you doing that?”

Q looked at Bond, followed his gaze to himself. “What?”

“You’re barely occupying space.”

“A talent of mine,” Q shrugged. “I’m extremely good at making myself fit into anything. Stowing away in the backs of cars is a personal favourite, although really, most places will do. I actually find it rather comfortable.”

Bond nodded with vague distrust. It seemed strange. “So…”

“If you think about it, fitting things into odd places is more or less my job,” Q pointed out. “Your pen, for example. Lots and lots of components fit perfectly into a pen which can kill people in at least three ways, and that’s without creativity.”

Bond couldn’t help the beginnings of a smirk. “So you… you spend your life fitting things into things?”

Q glanced up, horrified to realise that he was blushing ferociously. “No. I mean, it’s some of the job but it’s obviously not everything, I do a lot of other  _important_  things but these are pet projects and…”

Bond put his hands up in a placatory gesture. “It’s fine,” he told Q calmly. “I get it. Just thought you may enjoy some extracurricular fitting-things-into-things…”

“Get out of my office,” Q whined, head falling into his hands. “Good god. I shouldn’t be allowed to talk. Ever.”

Bond was trying very hard not to outright snort with laughter. “It’s okay Q, I promise,” he managed, suppressing his smirk very badly. “Just a suggestion.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I’m actually just seducing you, but you can take it as mocking if you like…”

Q’s head perked up again. “Come again?”

“I’m seducing you. Dinner?”

Bond had never seen Q look quite so bemused. “Well… that would be nice…” he began uncertainly, “but on the proviso that the things-fitting thing you’ve adopted is put to one side as the  _worst_  chat-up line in the Western world.”

“Deal,” Bond grinned. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Seven,” Q contradicted. “I’m hungry.”

“Seven it is,” Bond nodded, and walked out of Q’s office with something of a spring in his step.


	867. Chapter 867

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was struck with inspiration and wanted you to have it. Q and James on a mission together based on the song Not Gonna Die by Skillet. Lots of hurt and angst, but pulling through the pain and suffering together. Love you guys, and congrats by the way. :D – anon

Q was nursing a shot to the thigh and a nasty beating and a not-quite broken comm set, curled up in an almost foetal position and trying to keep himself talking and keep James Bond from dying when it seemed reasonably likely he was going to.

Actually, Q didn’t like either of their chances at survival, but he just needed to keep Bond alive if he could.

“Bond, are you receiving anything?” he asked with as much sarcasm as he could inject into the words.

Silence, for an excruciatingly long moment. “Receiving. I’m on my way to you. Target acquired, mission is over, we just need to get home.”  
“Injuries?”

“Moderate.”  
Q winced; Bond insistently called every injury he had ‘minor’ or ‘superficial’. It had to be a rather severe level for him to concede ‘moderate’. “Alright. Are pursuers dead?”

“Yes. You’re hurt?”

“Yes,” Q replied, without bothering to hide much. “But not dead, unlike the people who tried to kill me. I need you here as soon as you can, James, I don’t really know what to do. I’ve contacted the evac team but if you’re not here when they…”

“Understood, I’m coming.”

Bond’s breathing was far too laboured to be healthy. Q considered asking further questions – where he was, what had happened – but left it alone, content instead with hearing Bond’s heartbeat and the scrapes of him moving and know he was coming closer, nearly there.

“Q…”

“Come on Bond, nearly there,” Q encouraged, holding most of his shirt hard to the wound on his thigh. “Haven’t got much left in me, I need you here.”

“Don’t you dare say goodbye.”

Q snorted. “I wasn’t. Merely encouraging your speed, once again, if it’s not too much to ask. Always _sodding_  late, you’re always late…”

Bond fell, literally fell, through the door.

Q let out an extremely inelegant shriek of shock.

In the same instant, men in black outfits swarmed: the evac team, absolutely and perfectly on time. Bond ignored all of them to drop to Q’s side, looking like all hell – Q couldn’t work it out yet, the man was covered with blood and obviously not all of it his own – and kissed Q very lightly. “Never going to give up,” he promised his Quartermaster, and gave himself over to the tender custody of MI6 evac.


	868. Chapter 868

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies… Could I possibly have one where Q is really tense because he’s a sub and hasn’t been domed in a long time and it’s made him anxious, tired, moody, and all-around tense with all the stress in his life and no one to look after him or take care of him (or really care for him at all). James notices and takes care of Q. Could it be explicit with some sweet aftercare in the end? All I can offer is cookies and love. – anon

Q looked like all hell.

“… Q?”

He glanced up, eyes circled with black, fingers twitching slightly. Everything about him screamed that he was very unwell and very uncared-for.  “Yes, Bond?”

Bond’s expression shifted slightly. “May I have a word?”

Q shrugged, leant back from his screen. “By all means. Shut the door.”

Bond nudged it closed with his foot, and moved comfortably closer to Q. “You’re a sub,” he stated calmly, “and you look like shit.”

“Thank you for that assessment. Is that all?”

“Not quite. I’m a dominant, and I haven’t had any time with a sub in a very long while, and I’m tense. You need dominating, and I need a sub. May I suggest…?”

Q blinked at him. “Yes. You may suggest, as it happens. To be quite frank, I was rather hoping that – of all the various sex-deprived agents in the building – it would be you. If you would, shall we get this done with? I’m finishing here at seven, and I’ll meet you in the entrance foyer.”

Bond was rather stunned; he had expected a bit more of a fight or conversation, certainly not Q just agreeing without hesitation. “Excellent. See you then.”

-

Bond and Q had a very tense drive home. Sitting next to a very desperate sub and a barely-restrained dom was just a recipe for disaster; Q strongly considered just pulling in somewhere, but London traffic rather stalled that idea; they’d get done for indecency.

Instead, they managed to get themselves through the door of Q’s flat before Bond slammed Q against the wall with a blistering kiss, searing into both of them, Q letting out a low moan while Bond snarled his want against Q’s lips.

Heat radiated from Bond’s body, wrapping around Q, Q himself whimpering. “More, Bond, I need more.”

Bond’s hand slid to his wrists, pinned him in place. Q’s hips bucked forward, seeking touch; Bond purposefully moved back, stalling Q’s attempts. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to dominate me completely, I need to stop thinking.”

A moment of thought, and Bond hauled Q bodily down the corridor, kicking open the bedroom door with a single, violent kick. “Strip.”

Q scoffed. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Bond moved closer, keeping Q’s lips from attacking once again.

A single slap.

Q hissed, but his pupils went wide, breath fragmented. “No,” he repeated, but more uncertainly now. Bond was towering over him, every pore seeping dominance, not even a possibility of escape. “ _Now_ ,” Bond told him, and the ring was there, that ringing tone that only true Dominants possess: a tone edged with incredible power, sliding into Q’s blood and bone and soul and making his hands move to shirt buttons without hesitation, without thought.

It was simple. He had his Dominant. Everything would be alright.


	869. Chapter 869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m really sorry if I’m wrong about this, but I think I put a prompt in ages and ages ago that hasn’t been filled! So I was just wondering if maybe it got lost somewhere? It was one where instead of being useless at looking after himself, Q is actually really fit and healthy because he was in hospital a lot as a child (bad injury or illness?). So now he hates the idea of ending up there! I’m really sorry if I’m just being impatient! I can’t remember when I sent it, I’d forgotten about it!

Bond cocked his head to one side, looking Q up and down. “You’re… you’re more muscular than I thought you were,” he said curiously. Q raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a problem – you look excellent – but I was expecting…”

“… thin, anaemic, vitamin D deficient stereotypical computer nerd?” Q completed, with a wry smile. “Yes, that’s usually the reaction. And yes, I’m considerably more toned and fit than most give me credit for. Barring the glasses, I’m physically in absolutely bloody  _excellent_  health and fully intend to remain thus.”

There was something almost angry about the way Q expressed it, a violence of conviction. “As I said,” Bond continued, “you look  _gorgeous_.”

Q’s smile was slim and twitching with genuine humour. “Sorry, I get a bit defensive,” he admitted. “I was a skinny little shit when I was younger, and had a series of illnesses, always sickly and small and I _hated it_ , and I’m buggered if I’m ever getting that ill and thin and weak again, so I really look after myself.”

“I can tell.”

Finally, Q’s smile blossomed fully. “Thank you. You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

Bond had his flirt back on again. “Want to see more?” he purred, returning to his previous position with hands roving over Q’s body. “Want to  _feel_  more?”

“Terrible line, Bond.”

“Call me James.”

Q snorted. “Alright,  _James_ ,” he grinned, letting out a surprised gasp as Bond’s tongue flicked over his nipple. “Fuck.”

Bond’s hands trailed over Q’s defined arms, into the raise of his pectorals, fingers trailing down Q’s sternum, coming down to feel the ripples of abdominals, across the muscle of his thighs, teasing towards his groin and finding Q half-laughing at it, at the impressive reverence Bond seemed to have of his entire body.

“Let me see you, then?”

Bond unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt, his skin delectably warm against Q; good shape or not, Q had always been (and would always be) dreadfully poor at conserving body heat, non-existent circulation. Bond was hot to the touch and pressing Q to him, Q’s body melting into him.

A small laugh. “You’re eager,” Q commented, without sting; Bond shrugged unapologetically. “I like it.”

“It’s good to know I won’t have to mother you,  _kid_ ,” Bond returned, Q parrying with a raised eyebrow and a searing kiss.

“I can definitely take care of myself.”

Yet, he was still a whippet-thin creature; it didn’t take much for Bond to all but  _throw_  him onto the bed, Q laughing, Bond following with a predatory smirk.


	870. Chapter 870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q fluff. I just really want to see a Q who craves physical affection that isn’t sexual. Just cuddling and snuggling and hugs all the time, but of course he can’t let any of his minions know, so he has to get all the affection he wants at the end of the day. – thundress

Bond took one look at him, and bundled the high-powered workaholic MI6 Quartermaster into an all-encompassing hug. “You’ve had a long day.”

“Yes,” Q replied, voice muffled by Bond’s chest. “Horribly.”

A kiss to the top of his head; Q let out a sigh of contentment, not protesting as Bond led him to the sofa, flicked the TV on, and let Q sprawl over him. Bond extricated enough of his own limbs to hold Q close, and held on while Q mewled slightly, burrowing himself into Bond’s shirt as though he wanted nothing more than to stay there forever.

“I never asked,” Bond mused, as Q settled. “Why?”

Q stiffened slightly, then shrugged carefully. “Well, I just grew up in a tactile environment. It’s weird not having any form of closeness with anybody. After my parents died, I was faced with a dearth of people who would offer any physical comfort, anything really… I never liked sex much, so there was that avenue gone, and if I ever  _did_ get physically close to somebody there was the expectation of more and I just didn’t want to give it.”

Bond nodded. He didn’t seem particularly perturbed; he just continued to stroke Q’s hair, massage the back of his neck absentmindedly. “I’ll never understand why people conflate sex with intimacy,” he mused. “They can be the same thing, yes, but they can exist as mutually exclusive possibilities.”

Q smiled; once in a while, Bond could be dizzying intelligent. Just instinct and experience, and he knew so many people and had watched so many worlds of people’s ideas and dreams that perhaps in was unsurprising that he knew how people behaved, and knew a hell of a lot more than most about love, and passion, and intimacy, and touch, and expectation.

They fitted together. Bond was a sexual being, yes, but sex could be acquired anywhere.

The form of relationship Bond and Q had was entirely different, and entirely fulfilling for both parties. True, Bond would rather like to have sex with his partner, but it didn’t matter.

“I love you.”

Bond stilled in his motions across Q’s hair. Q, still in his arms, also went a little rigid, as though realising abruptly that he had gone too far and crossed some form of unspoken barrier.

“… I love you, too.”

Q snuggled in closed, angling himself around to see the TV, all their limbs tangled together in a bundled heap, Q safe in the embrace of somebody who would never ask too much of him.


	871. Chapter 871

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I have a really ANGSTY thread? James and omega Q escaped from MI6 when James turned 45 because 00’s who don’t take another job at MI6 are taken to a room and shot because their a risk. They have alpha and omega pups M finds them and takes the alpha pups and shoots James the omega are abandoned and Q is thrown in jail? – anon

“James, they’ve found us. Oh fuck.”

They had less than two minutes of warning. Bond scooped the kids up, Q shutting down computers, every piece of evidence that they had ever been there – and, as Q had known from the moment he realised, it was too late.

Treachery. Betraying Queen and Country, just to keep Bond safe.

Q wouldn’t, couldn’t, regret it. Not in that moment, anyway; they had been blessed with so many years of safety, and had both known it would happen eventually.

Masked agents, ordering hands in the air, everybody onto their knees. Q and Bond exchanged a quick look; Q was pale and visibly frightened, Bond comfortingly stoic. Their three children were sobbing with fear, Q hushing them gently, telling them it would be alright.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Bond greeted, with a tone that bordered on insubordination. “We’ve been expecting you. I assume you have your orders?”

Nobody spoke. There was no warning whatsoever.

Bond crumpled back, bullet hitting the very centre of his forehead.

Q didn’t have breath to scream. His body slumped somehow, as though some part of his body had been wrenched from inside him and left him empty. The reality of James being dead was something Q would work on later; for now, he had to try and think, to keep his children safe.

“Please, don’t hurt them,” Q managed, mouth dry. “They’re children, they won’t do any harm. Please, leave my children.”

The man who had killed Bond looked Q up and down. “You will taken to a secure facility with an indefinite sentence, for undermining the British Government and choosing to contravene internal MI6 protocols.”

“I guessed as much,” Q agreed. “Just let my children go. They won’t cause problems.”

“Which of you are Alphas?”

Q froze slightly. He didn’t like where things were going, why a question like that would be relevant. “It doesn’t matter,” Q said quickly, body inadvertently moving to shield his sobbing offspring, all of whom kept looking at Bond’s body, the blood spilling across their carpet. Q wanted to vomit, had to hold things in place for the sake of his children.

“Now,” the man barked.

Two stepped forward. Q’s eldest and youngest; it was their second child who had been an unexpected Omega, and Q loved all three with the same ferocious need that he had for Bond, oh god Bond, who Q was still half-expecting to sit up and make all of this go away.

Their masked assailant looked over the kids, and shot both of the Alphas.

Q stopped breathing, wrenched his remaining daughter towards him, and sprang at the gunman with a warrior cry of sheer devastation, words half-forming children they would never have done anything, being Alpha didn’t doesn’t change anything and mostly just screamed and thrashed as he was beaten into submission, handcuffs wrenching his arms behind him while his daughter watched, sobbing and crying out for her daddy who couldn’t reach her, would have given anything and everything to protect her.

The last thing Q heard was her crying out for him, before something pricked the side of his neck, and he knew nothing more.


	872. Chapter 872

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I have an AU where fem!Q’s family aw all really stuck up and she told them that she was a happy housewife to get them off her back but there’s a family dinner and she asks Bond to play her husband? Thank you!! :) – anon

“I have a request.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. Q was usually the type to give orders rather than requests, but he played along. “Do go on?”

Q let out a sigh, and ran a hand through her cropped hair. “Look, I know this is going to sound strange, and it is entirely off the record…”

“… illegal, then?”

“Not quite,” Q said, with a slightly pained smile. “It’s my parents. My family. I have to go to dinner with my family.”

Bond had to admit he had no idea what that had to do with anything. “Okay…?”

Q continued to look very uncharacteristically awkward. “They don’t realise how much I work. They don’t know my job at all, actually, both for secrecy reasons and because I don’t think my sanity would cope with the verbal battering I’d get for being in a high-powered job at my age, they’re tough enough about the “we’re never going to have grandchildren” thing so I needed to find some way to calm them down. Which was an elopement. With you.”

Bond froze. “What?”

“I’m not asking you to elope,” Q clarified, to Bond’s relief. “I’m saying that according to my family, we eloped.”

“You lost me.”

Q took a breath, released it slowly. “I’ll cut to the point: Bond, would you be willing to accompany me to a dinner, with my family, wherein you pretend to be my husband and I pretend to be a happy housewife so nobody kills anybody and my mother doesn’t cry that I’m a failure?”

“A  _housewife_?”

Q shrugged. “They wanted me to be happy and looking after the house and all those sorts of things. Did I mention I’m from a rather affluent family, who hold a great deal of old-fashioned values?”

“Mine were the same,” Bond admitted, before a thought occurred: “Why me?”

Q blushed all the way to her ears. “I needed to have photographs to send to my family after my supposed ‘elopement’, and, well… I had your file up at the time, and everybody would approve of somebody looking like you and with your charm et cetera, so… I photoshopped a bit and sent them some photos of us.”

Bond didn’t really know how to respond to that. “So your family literally think I’m your husband? And think you’re a housewife? And what do I do?”

“You’re high up in the secret service, I left it rather noncommittal.”

“Okay. So I’ll be meeting your parents…”

“… and two older siblings, both of whom will be absolutely nightmarish towards you, and know you’re not actually my husband,” Q completed, making Bond’s face pale slightly. “I tried, but the pair of them are very good at observing things, and Myc practically stalks me, so there was no way of keeping that hidden.”

“Your husband,” Bond interrupted. “For an evening.”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Q blinked, taken aback. “Really?”

“Really,” Bond nodded. “It’ll be fun.”

“… I have never been so worried about the word ‘fun’.”

Bond grinned, all teeth.


	873. Chapter 873

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “CIA engineers knew that guards were less likely to search another male’s genitalia and created a false rubber scrotum that fit over the wearer’s testicles. Matched to skin color, and incorporating full anatomical detail, the prosthesis was visually undetectable, but formed a cavity large enough to conceal the escape radio.”- The Official CIA Manual of Trickery and Deception. Would love to read Q fitting Bond with one. xD – gnol-gnol

Bond had never been so scared in his life.

“… pardon me?”

“Strip. I have to fit a certain device, and I need to take a cast of your genitals before we go any further, as well as extensive photography.”

Q seemed entirely unperturbed by the situation, and oblivious to Bond’s palpable shock. “You want… _why_?”

Q glanced up. “An absolutely excellent innovation from the CIA is being put into practise for your next mission, and it has a lot to with the concealment of escape radios and devices of that ilk. I will be creating a prosthesis that will perfectly fit, and to do that, I need access to your genitals. Be grateful it’s me doing this, I think R and the minions would have killed one another to have the chance.”

“And you?”

Q’s expression was impassive. “I’m a professional,” he reminded Bond drily. “And while I’m sure your genitalia are very impressive, they are in no sense of interest to me in this context. Bear in mind that I will have to spend much of the next several days studying every millimetre intensely. Believe me, it is not something I am relishing the idea of.”

“Pity.”

Q’s gaze shot up. “Excuse me?”

Bond’s smile turned roguish. “Pity you’re not looking forward to it.”

An eye roll. “Just strip, double-oh seven, you’re annoying me.”

“Call me James.”  
“No. Strip.”

Bond did as he was told, still smirking in a way that made Q want very badly to deliberately pinch something as he knelt down, and started doing god-alone knew what to his testicles, scrotum, shaft, and Bond had to admit it was definitely the least erotic thing that had ever happened near his groin. Except maybe genital torture. Maybe.”

Q’s fingers were clever and quick, and Bond’s mind started to wander.

“Oh, Bond,  _control yourself_.”

Bond hadn’t realised he was sporting a semi-erection. “Sorry,” he said quickly, tried to get his thoughts in order. Controlling his penis was one of Bond’s specialities, but it was rather hard to manage _anything_  when Q was still playing across his penis and expecting him to not have any type of biological response.

“I hate you,” Q muttered, as Bond remained steadfastly at half-mast. Q was still clicking away photographs, making notes, and the thought of causing minor pain was very tempting.

He withdrew, rather relieved. “Dress again, and  _please_  don’t leave my office with an erection, it’ll be difficult to explain.”

“You could always help.”

Q gaped slightly. “Is that… are you  _hitting on me_?”

“Do you mind?”

“You’re standing naked, in the middle of my office, hitting on me,” Q continued, eyes wide. “And steadily heading towards an erection. I… what the  _fuck_  has my life become?”

Bond smiled slyly, sauntering closer to Q. “You like it.”

“You’re presumptuous.”

“Yes,” Bond agreed, and leaned in to kiss his Quartermaster.

Q objected for about one tenth of a second, before conceding defeat, and deciding to examine the bizarreness of his life some other time.


	874. Chapter 874

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16yr old Fem!Q shows up at 18yr old Fem!Bond’s house in the middle of the night with a black eye and a bloody mouth, in tears, and begging to be kept safe from her father who became violent upon finding out that Q is a lesbian, and is looking for her now. 00Q, of course. H/C, fluff. – anon

“Please help, I don’t know where to go…”

Bond’s family never had a problem with her sexuality. Really, they would have been surprised if she _hadn’t_  been attracted to women; she was quite free with her own sense of gender, and showed attraction to practically everything.

Then there was Q, who had only just come to the realisation that she was never going to manage a relationship with a man. It didn’t make sense to her, felt wrong.

Bond had been the one who took Q in, and made her realise abruptly that she was a lesbian. That was why any other relationships felt wrong: she liked women.

Her father was less than impressed.

“Come in,” Bond said quickly, and yelled for her very-asleep parents. “Mum, dad, I need your help.”

Bond’s mum appeared first. “What in god’s name is going on?” she asked sharply, dressing gown tied hastily around her waist. “Q?”

Q looked at her properly, and it became obvious: blood was trickling from her nose, a bruise already rising over her eyes, lip split. “Please Monique,” she asked, a little desperately. “It’s my dad, he’s going to be looking for me, and I can’t go home…”

“Quite bloody right you’re not going home,” Monique agreed, voice simmering with tempered fury. “ _Andrew_ , I need a medical kit. And you, Jay, stop standing there and put the kettle on, I have some of Q’s Earl Grey in the cupboard…”

Bond’s family had liked Q from first meeting her. Shy and young and sweet, scarily intelligent, wicked sense of humour; they welcomed her in with open arms, and Bond knew they would shelter Q to the end of time if they had to. “Q, darling, I’m going to take a picture of your face for the police,” Monique told her, gently but matter-of-fact. “We’ll deal with that aspect in the morning, but we need proof of it.”

Q nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed, still crying and only vaguely aware of doing so. Monique took a picture quickly, and moved onto cleaning the girl up; she was slowly starting to calm down, but was still letting out uncontrolled sobs intermittently.

“It’ll be alright,” Bond promised as she reappeared, her father taking over tea-making duty. “Mum, is it alright if she sleeps in my bed?”

Monique rolled her eyes. “Obviously, darling, I don’t think she’s in any place to be alone, are you Q?”

She shook her head. “Thank you, I don’t mean to intrude, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just…”

“Shh,” Andrew told her firmly, appearing in the doorway with a very welcome cup of Earl Grey. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll think about how to manage all of this in the morning, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Q hiccupped her gratitude, accepting the tea with disbelieving fingers, unable to quite believe that Bond’s parents were the complete antithesis of her own, that they could accept and care for her without a single moment of hesitation.

“You’re safe,” Bond promised her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “I promise.”

Q nodded, eyes sliding closed as exhaustion started to thrum through her body. “Thank you,” she murmured, and let herself be cared for.


	875. Chapter 875

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new double-oh is set on dating his Quartermaster and asks around for details about Q. Everyone keeps mentioning that ‘over protective boyfriend’. He only realizes who they are talking to when he is faced with a 'very amused and willing to make him understand he has to keep his hands to himself’ Bond. – anon

009 was very insistent and very endearingly so; the Q-branch minions felt almost sorry for him, as he continued to slide various minions chocolate or wine (or socks, in Jeanette’s case, and nobody knew how he knew that she wanted any) and asked a truly impressive number of questions about Q and the things he liked.

It was very thorough. Every single minion was very careful to add one particularly important fact: Q was taken, and his boyfriend was an exceptionally over-protective boyfriend.

009 took it as something of a personal challenge, and made the awful assumption that the boyfriend was not part of MI6, but some external being that could be shooed away.

Both Bond and Q were very aware of 009’s interest. Bond found it utterly hilarious. Q found it vaguely pitiful, but couldn’t deny being somewhat flattered. It was usually Bond who had people fawning (at least twelve MI6 members suffered malevolent computer viruses after attempting to seduce Bond) and Q quite liked being the subject of attention.

It meant that Bond finally was able to really unleash his protective streak. Unlike Q’s malice, Bond was more of a quiet, cruelly polite type of threatening that was enough to make even the strongest of men hide beneath their mother’s skirts in sheer terror.

009 sent Q Belgian truffles, and a pack of his favourite tea blends. Bond decided things had gone too far.

“… may I have a word?”

009 turned. “Ah, Bond. How are you? I heard Egypt was a success…”

“I’m not here to discuss work,” Bond smiled, a flash of teeth that made 009 just a little bit uneasy. “I am here to discuss Q.”

“Q?”

“Yes, Q. Our Quartermaster”

009’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What about him?” he asked slowly, wondering where on earth this was all going.

Bond’s smile was broad and threateningly friendly. “You’ve been attempting to seduce him,” he stated, watching the flickers of confusion spread across 009’s expression. “And you’ve done very well. An excellent effort.”

009 made the phenomenal mistake of almost  _preening_  at the compliment. Bond’s eyes turned a little hard. 009 seemed oblivious. “I’ve never met anybody like him,” 009 admitted, in a conspiratorial tone. “Honestly Bond, he’s…”

“Extraordinary, yes, which is why I have been dating him for the last year or so.”

To Bond’s immense satisfaction, 009’s face drained of colour, eyes flushed briefly, before his entire face turned a vaguely unhealthy shade of grey-green. He gaped like a fish for a moment or two, before managing a strangled “well, fuck”.

“Quite,” Bond agreed companionably. “I would recommend you staying well away from him from hereon in. Agreed?”

009 managed a nod. “Well done though, Bond,” he acknowledged. “No offence meant. Hope you both like the chocolate.”

Bond had to admit: of all the people to seduce his partner, he was glad it was somebody like 009. A man who still – despite discovering Bond, of all people, was Q’s boyfriend – had control of himself. It would have been disappointing to terrify a wilting flower.

“I’m sure we will,” Bond agreed. “Thank you for your understanding. I’m sure we’ll speak soon.”

009 nodded, as confidently as he could manage, and strode stiffly away, just about managing to remain composed until he was a safe distance away.

“… that was beautifully handled,” Q told him through Bond’s earpiece. “And the chocolates are excellent. Get yourself over to my office before I finish them off. You know what I’m like with chocolate.”

Bond rolled his eyes, and all but ran to Q-branch, before the truffles were entirely gone.


	876. Chapter 876

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! could you do an omegaverse 00q fic where MI6 capture a hacker (who is surprisingly a young omega) that has broken into their systems, and they bring in Alpha!James to interrogate him. I love your writing so so much! – anon

The bloody hacker looked like a sodding teenage boy, which wasn’t even the thing that rankled most: he was an omega.

Omegas were really not supposed to be able, if one was to believe stereotyping, to be capable of all that much. Certainly, not capable of an act of actual aggression towards MI6 servers. Omegas were not supposed to  _do_  aggression, even if it was non-physical aggression.

Everybody had expected a seasoned Alpha, probably heading for middle-aged. A little like Raoul Silva – who had been dispatched a mere few months previously – who had been precisely that.

Oh, and the final insult: he called himself ‘Q’.

“I want every piece of information he can give us,” M ordered Bond, who was drafted in given his experience interrogating omegas. “If he’s working for somebody, which Psych thinks is fairly likely, we need names. I want to know how he managed it, how he learnt, and where the fuck he comes from. I also want his actual  _bloody_  name.”

Bond had rarely seen M look quite so irate. He had to give the hacker serious credit for that.

Q looked up as the door opened. It was immediately evident that the newcomer was a fairly potent Alpha, which made sense; Q was supposed to feel intimidated just through that. “Hello, pleasure to meet you,” he said brightly.

Bond was almost immediately disarmed, but kept composure. “And you, ‘Q’,” he returned, voice loaded with inverted commas. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yep,” Q agreed – impertinent little shit – and continued: “I don’t work for anybody, I’m independent, self-taught, and hacked you because I wanted to prove to myself that I could. Your security systems are laughably poor – which explains the whole Raoul Silva debacle, by the way – and quite frankly I think you’d all be better off employing me than interrogating me.”

Bond was silent for a long moment. “Have you ever had your hormones tested?” he asked, with manufactured calm. “Only, you’re the least omega-like omega I’ve ever met.”

Q grinned, all teeth. “Don’t trust mass media. Your name?”

“Bond. James Bond.”

Q quirked a smile. “Good name. I’m Q, and I will not be giving you a name other than Q. Again, I return to the ‘you ought to hire me’ argument: I’m coming pre-packaged with no name and no ties. Ideal MI6 fodder.”

Bond had no idea how his interrogation had managed to go so spectacularly wrong, so quickly. In addition, Bond was trying to avoid the repeated thought that Q was one of the most interesting creatures he had ever encountered, and Bond had to admit it was very appealing.

“No ties whatsoever?”

“I told you, I’m independent,” Q repeated, as though Bond was rather stupid. “So off you go, I’m sure M will want a full report.”

Bond didn’t bother to question how Q knew the internal workings of MI6, including the story of Raoul Silva, so well. Evidently, he had been lurking in the systems for a while. “I’m going to send some of Q-branch in to evaluate your work,” Bond told him instead, sparking surprise for the first time in the young prisoner. “For now, try not to piss too many people off. They might not be as patient as I am.”

Q nodded. “Thank you, Mr Bond.”

“Call me James,” Bond replied on reflex, and walked out, aware that he wouldn’t be able to dislodge the cocky little shit from his mind for a very long while.


	877. Chapter 877

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q wakes up one morning and realize that James will never be there again. 00Q – anon

The problem was the size of the bed.

Q could manage most things. Bond’s belongings, while scattered, were actually quite easy to round up and place in a handful of boxes which now lived in the corner of Q’s living room, barring the things he had a particular fondness for which remained in their previous places and Q pretended he wasn’t not-looking at them.

A very slow, measured exhale.

It was rolling onto one side, and realising he had sprawled into the space Bond had once occupied. Asleep, his body didn’t respect the sanctity of James’s-side-of-the-bed and had, instead, invaded without care.

The moment Q realised, he all but flinched back to his side of the bed.

Sorry, Q thought to himself, you always teased me for taking up all the space.

Q often kept up a light internal dialogue. Talking to himself was a little too far towards where actual madness lay, but within the confines of his brain, he stored Bond’s voice for moments when it was all a little too quiet.

You bastard.

Speaking ill of the dead was perhaps a little taboo, but Q saw very few reasons not too. Bond had died. The idiot had managed to honestly and truly die and Q couldn’t help but want the man back just to slap him for managing to do the one thing Q always told him not to. Q would merrily accept all the shattered equipment in the world for the chance of having Bond back.

Q whacked the kettle on, and I still have enough bloody Tetley’s here to sink a battleship and you’re the only one who ever drank the stuff, I have more class than that, and with that, Q stifled what had come dangerously close to a sob and threw the several accumulated boxes straight into the bin.

Some mornings, it was alright. Q could wake up and go to work and things were alright.

Some mornings, Q woke up and the loss crushed him without warning, leaving him sunk into the mattress with fingers playing idly in the sheets that no longer smelt of Bond, and never would again.

And then there were the mornings where Q could forget. Bond was on a mission. Bond was in MI6. Bond was in Medical, even. Q filled in all the reasons that Bond wasn’t there when Q woke up, allowing him to genuinely forget for several excruciating moments before the memory knocked him off his feet.

I fucking miss you, Q thought, eyes closed for a moment. I really, really miss you.

Q leant back against the countertop, scrubbing his face with his hands.

Perhaps he ought to get a new flat. Get a new bed. Perhaps that would help.

The kettle boiled with an apologetic click.

Q sighed.

God, he hated mornings.


	878. Chapter 878

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fem!Q is unaware of her bisexuality. Fem!Bond shows her the joy of lesbian sex during a mission in which they have to pretend to be a couple. Thanks in advance, lovelies! – anon

Q was finding it all a little bit weird, but then, that was one of the problems with field missions; there was almost always something weird, some facet of the mission brief that would be unusually complicated or just bizarre.

This time, Q was actually  _on_  a field mission, and having to live out the weird things that usually he just planned for other people.

It involved being Bond’s girlfriend.

The really weird thing was that Q wasn’t finding it weird. It felt somehow  _right_ , to be in a relationship with Bond.

Q was having to seriously consider the fact that she might be not be entirely straight.

Bond found it worryingly amusing. Bond, who had no problem admitting to his bisexuality and had a long sexual history spanning various genders and ages and backgrounds that looked frankly alarming on paper.

“Have you ever even played around with a girl?” Bond was asking, as she ambled out of the bathroom in little more than a towel; the sight made Q’s mouth go slightly dry, and she averted her gaze pretty sharply. “Seriously, Q…”

“… stop talking,” Q muttered at her; Bond, without warning, let the towel drop.

Q was close to whimpering as she unexpectedly had a head-to-toe view of Bond’s stunningly attractive body. Instead, she steeled herself: “Any particularly reason for stripping in front of me?” she asked, with her usual sting of sarcasm.

“You’re enjoying the view,” Bond shrugged.

Q was torn between wanting to kill her and kiss her. A fairly lethal combination.

Bond took the decision out of her hands, by walking around to Q (who was perched at the end of the bed with her laptop) and standing mere inches from Q’s face, completely and entirely naked and slightly damp, skin glistening. “… and you’re doing this because…?”

Q looked up. Bond was smiling very slightly, and leaned in to kiss Q carefully.

For reasons best known to some strange part of Q’s psyche, she didn’t pull away. She didn’t so much as hesitate. In fact, instinct found her pressing closer, tongue flicking out to curl over Bond’s lips, hands reaching for Bond’s impossibly gorgeous body with smooth, damp skin.

Bond let out no suggestion of surprise, but let Q lead things, the younger woman pushing her laptop away to pull Bond closer. “Is this okay?” Bond asked, into the shell of Q’s ear.

“Apparently so,” Q replied, with the slightest of laughs, moaning as Bond’s hands scanned down her own body, a hand somehow slipping into her blouse (god alone knew how) and then she was touching her breasts, a finger circling a nipple carefully, Q had no idea how given that her bra was still on, but holy hell Bond knew what to do with a woman.

“Jay…”

Q’s mouth was covered with Bond’s, and she could honestly feel her mind humming with impossible _want_ ; she hadn’t felt so aroused in an incredibly long while.

“Don’t stop.”

Bond smiled, and trailed a tongue over Q’s ear, dipped lower, and Q abruptly realised the bra was all but gone and her blouse was splayed over the sheets and trousers undone and Bond was still naked and awe-inspiringly beautiful. “ _Fuck_ , you’re beautiful,” Bond breathed to her, and Q felt a blush slip over her entire body.

It had been far too long since she had felt so  _cherished_. Bond’s touches were reverential, careful. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Q pulled Bond towards her, kissed her with enough passion to convey everything she had in her. “ _Yes_ ,” she breathed against Bond’s lips, and let herself be cherished.


	879. Chapter 879

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 00Q bickering about baby’s names. Bond doesn’t want his child to have unusual names that Holmes family seems to be so fond of. Q may or not be swayed by Bond’s reasonings, it’s up to you. Love you guys! – anon

“No, we’re not having that, it’s a bloody stupid name.”

“It’s  _tradition_.”

“Q,” Bond said wearily, “it’s fine for you, you’re now only known as Q. Our child has to live an entire life with a silly name. Sherlock and Mycroft can manage it, because after all, they don’t care that much for social interaction.”

Q looked genuinely crushed. “It’s a Holmes thing,” he said sadly. “We’re supposed to be creative, we’re unique. The Holmes family are  _always_  unique. Special.”

“Special, yes, but on your own terms,  _not_  because you have a bizarre name.”

Bond wasn’t trying to be unpleasant, he really wasn’t, but it was just so silly to try and make up or find the most obscure and absurd names they could to place on a little girl who would bear the burden for the rest of her life.

“It…”

“Q, we’re not going Holmesian on this one,” Bond told him firmly. “We’re just not. She’s going to have a normal name.”

“Sherlock will kill you.”

Bond snorted; Sherlock issued death threats once or twice a week, on average. This would not change very much. “So we’ll find a better name, and they can’t argue with it,” Bond told him, while Q continued to look utterly dejected. “Come on, your name must have got you into trouble at school.”

“Not nearly as badly as being their sibling,” Q pointed out. “But I do see your point. I just don’t want to let Mummy and Daddy down, they’re finally getting a grandchild, probably their  _only_  grandchild unless Sherlock and John get their act together, and I don’t want to disappoint them.”

Bond softened a little. “Love, your parents will be so happy at having her in their lives that they’ll forgive the name. Now, what would you like to call her?”

“I don’t know,” Q said dejectedly. “Carlotta?”

“In the twenty-first century?” Bond replied, with a pleading note. “Q,  _please_  try to think of a normal name?”

Q had gone from dejected to vaguely horizontal and whining at the table. There was very little he could think of, and he didn’t especially want to tell Sherlock and Mycroft that he’d named his daughter something ‘normal’. Sherlock would take the piss something shocking.

“Emma? Jennifer? Alex?”

“I like Alex,” Q admitted guiltily.

Bond smiled. “Good, there’s a start. I actually have a name I really like, and I’ll tell you if you promise to consider it. Really consider it.”

Q lifted his head. “Promise.”

A moment of hesitation: “Lily.”

“Lily,” Q repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “Lily Bond.”

“Exactly. Lily Bond. We can have a stranger middle name if you like…”

“… like Carlottella?”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Maybe. We can think. But you like Lily?”

“I like it,” Q conceded. “It’s alright. It’s nice.”

With a smirk of satisfaction, Bond headed into the kitchen to make tea, leaving a slightly disconsolate Q behind.


	880. Chapter 880

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person B trying to wake an obstinate Person A. After multiple fruitless efforts, they end up grabbing Person A’s face, getting up really close, and loudly singing “YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE. MY ONLY SUNSHINE….”Bonus: …Person A then wakes up and promptly smothers Person B with a pillow – anon

“Q.”

Nothing.

“ _Q_.”

Nothing.

“ _Q, WAKE UP_.”

Q let out a vague whine, and ignored him.

Bond started resorting to drastic measures: he pulled the duvet off Q, leaving his naked body open to the air, and he moaned and pulled himself into a tight and still very sleepy ball. “Go ‘way.”

“You’re late.  _I’m_  late.”

Q ignored him. After a moment or two, Bond could have sworn he heard a snore.

Bond rolled his shoulders back, squared up, and leaned in to Q’s ear.

“ _YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE. MY ONLY SUNSHINE. YOU MAKE ME HAPPY WHEN SKIES ARE GREY_.”

Q let out a banshee shriek, practically pouncing at Bond.

Bond laughed, “ _YOU’LL NEVER KNOW, DEAR_.”

“I’m going to  _kill_  you,” Q hissed, grabbing a pillow and lobbing his entire body at Bond’s face, tackling him down.

“ _how much I love you_ ,” Bond continued, muffled by the pillow, hands trying to gain purchase on Q’s wrists to flip him off again.

Q was doing a remarkably good job of getting out the way, but that didn’t stop Bond wrapping his legs around Q’s back and manoeuvring him to the side, taking a gulp of air and grabbing the pillow. “No, don’t you  _dare_ ,” Q cried, as Bond plucked the pillow out of his grip. “Don’t…”

Bond chucked the pillow across the room, and caged Q in his arms.

His voice was utterly genuine: “So please don’t take my sunshine away,” he finished, softer, very tender, and kissed him.

Q melted in his arms.

“We need to get up,” Bond told Q gently.

Q raised an eyebrow. “No shit,” he muttered. “And I thought this had all been for nothing…”

Bond kissed him again.

“Come on now, out of bed.”

“ _No_.”

“Q, don’t make me sing at you again…”

“… yell at me, more like…”

“… and M is going to get pissed off as hell if we’re not in on time,” Bond completed. “Last chance, or I’ll  _carry_  you into the bathroom for a shower.”

Q grimaced. “I definitely need a shower?”

Bond looked Q up and down with vague disbelief. “Yes, you need a shower. You have five seconds.”

Q smirked, and buried himself down into whatever sheets remained.

Really, Q should have known that Bond was a man of his word.

He still let out an unmanly shriek as he was grabbed by the waist, and Bond carried him bodily into the bathroom.


	881. Chapter 881

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond catches Q singing/jamming to music like Taylor Swift’s ((maybe in his flat and Bond sneaks up on him??)) hehe thank you!! – anon

Bond heard Q long before he heard the music, and quite frankly, the sound was pretty alarming; thumping up and down, echoing down the stairwell.

Then, he got closer to the door, and thumping took on a drumbeat, and something resembling a tune.

Very quietly, Bond slid his key into the lock, and turned it.

Q didn’t notice Bond’s entrance. Q noticed very little outside shaking and jumping around, singing surprisingly loudly with a very lovely voice, red pepper in hand (which was terrifying; Q couldn’t cook) and the smell of not-quite-burning onions.

Taylor Swift. Q was a man with hidden depths.

“ _And the haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate…_ ”

Well. Bond wasn’t a hater, by any stretch, but he had always found Taylor Swift not quite to his taste. Certainly, he had no interest in playing it at high volume and dancing along.

“ _Shake it off_ ,” Q was yelling, “ _shake it o-AAAA!!!_ ”

Q’s strangled yell was one of the funniest things Bond had ever seen; Q recoiled, accidently chucking the red pepper across the living room, straightened up very quickly and flushed an unforgettable shade of pink.

They stared at one another for a moment. The song was still blaring.

“You have a lovely singing voice.”  
“Thank you.”

More staring. Q broke it to reach for the remote and turn the song off.

“Keep it on, you were having fun,” Bond smiled, with a tiny bit of a smirk. “Taylor Swift?”

“There’s no problem with Taylor Swift.”

Bond’s hands raised in surrender. “I never said there was.”

“You were thinking it,” Q batted back. “So don’t you dare think it. It’s fun.”

Q was very endearingly vehement. He had the same tone of voice he often used when angry in meetings, which Bond personally thought wavered between either very convincing, or a like a cross kitten.

This particular version was definitely a kitten. Bond decided it would be wise not to tell Q this.

“Seriously, you can keep playing it,” Bond continued, while Q glared at him. “I wasn’t judging.”

Q’s eyes narrowed further. “And you’re not going to take the piss?”

“You have my word,” Bond assured him, lowering his hands and taking a step or two in. “In fact, I’ll join in.”

A look of blatant shock. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Don’t know the words, so singing is off the cards.”

Q’s grin was terrifying. “You’ll catch on,” he said smugly, and turned on the music again at top volume.

 _The things I do for love_ , Bond thought wearily to himself, and started to jump along.


	882. Chapter 882

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfall au where Q is basically Severine (sold into the sex trade as a teenager) but 00Q is already established. Particularly the scotch scene (could have Q dying or not as the whim takes you. ) I just really want to see Bond’s reaction to that if the relationship were established, and I just love angsty 00Q. Thank you! Xx – anon

Q was propped up against the stone, hands tied with comically thick rope and blood trickling sluggishly from his lip.

Bond had very rarely felt quite so frightened. It was the type of fear that trickled under his skin and ate at him; yet naturally, he had an audience, and it was simple enough to paper it over for the sake of the obnoxious Spaniard who was the apparent mastermind behind recent events.

“A favourite of yours, I understand…”

Silva monologued. He was very much the type.

Yet Bond was more concerned about the way Q was carefully still, weight angled, eyes just a little bit wide. The evidence of Silva was painted all over him, from his split lip to his cracked glasses, the way he leant away incrementally as Silva sauntered towards him and very carefully, very tenderly, placed the shot glass on his head.

Bond understood instantly.

Q looked at him with a surprising degree of trust. Q had no reason to have faith; he knew Bond was washed up and no longer the type of impeccable shot and trustworthy saviour he might have passed as a few years previously.

Silva was rambling. Bond could hear nothing outside the blood pounding in his ears.

“Whoever knocks off the shot glass…”

Bond could hear Q’s voice, and knew he was forgiven for whatever would come. Q already knew he was going to die; it was now just a case of who and how.

The pistol was rather beautiful, actually. Well crafted, and somehow warm, fitting to the contours of long fingers.

 _Q, I’m so sorry_.

Bond lifted, aimed. Q’s body was oddly relaxed, and he steadfastly kept his eyes open and fixed on Bond; in a way, Bond wished he wouldn’t. It may have been marginally easier if he didn’t have the sight of Q’s absolute faith.

The stone cracked by the side of Q’s head.

Q closed his eyes briefly, took a breath, opened them again.

Now, there was none of his calm or his faith. He stared at Bond, body growing a little too rigid.

 _I don’t want to die_ , his expression screamed,  _I really don’t want to die, please, James, do something_.

“My turn.”

Silva gave Q only a perfunctory glance before firing.

The air left Bond’s body in a single, sharp gasp.


	883. Chapter 883

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I request a fill where fem James has to be a sex worker on a mission and has a breakdown and fem Q has to comfort her – anon

Q could hear the very distinctive sounds of somebody crying.

It took her a good moment to realise it was coming from her earpiece; she’d actually forgotten it was live. “Bond?”

“Thank fuck,” Bond replied, her voice unsteady, hiccupping in sobs. “Q, Q I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Q immediately sat up straighter, blinking exhaustion out of her eyes. “Bond? What…”

“I can’t  _fucking_  do this any more.”

It was a very, very difficult situation. Everybody involved was being stretched to their limits; Bond had needed to go undercover in a very hostile environment, Q was monitoring a mission with four agents including double-oh seven and nine, 009 had already needed bailing after being beaten to hell and back, and nobody was sleeping. The sex ring they were infiltrating had links stretching globally, with an accompanying drug and weapon component.

Double-ohs always took the worst missions. Bond had been given the option, in this case, to refuse. She hadn’t.

And now, Q could hear her somewhat frantic noises down the earpiece. Q knew she had just been with a ‘client’ – as her pimp called them – and knew something must have gone very wrong. “Bond?”

“I can’t keep being… this is fucked up, Q.”

Q took a steadying breath. “Double-oh seven…”

“No Q, for fuck’s sake call me my name.”

“I never call you by your first name,” Q replied, with a trickle of humour. “I…”

“At least don’t refer to me by my  _fucking_  call sign.”

The humour disintegrated. Something had definitely snapped, something Q hadn’t realised about until it was too late. “Bond, talk to me.”

Bond let out a long breath. “This is too much,” she murmured. “They’re fucking… I knew what I was getting into, but jesus, these  _men_ … they’re too much, make us less than animals, we’re  _nothing_ , and they fucking hurt us just because they  _can_.”

Q paused a moment. “Bond, you’re going to be alright.”

“… and I’m going to need to be tested for every STD under the sun, they say they clear them but I can’t say I trust them…”

“Bond,  _listen to me_.”

“… and I’m so tired I cannot express, Q, I haven’t slept in fucking  _days_ …”

“Bond, that is enough.”

Q didn’t raise her voice. There was an edge of steel in her tone, but no anger, no aggression, just the perfect command that Bond always seemed to listen to above and beyond anything else. “Yes?”

“Bond, do you need extraction?”

Bond let out an another slow, more measured breath. “No,” she replied, very quietly. “Not now, I’ve got this far. I just… fuck, Q.”

“I’m sorry,” Q replied gently. Very quietly indeed, Bond was still crying. Calming, but crying. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Let me kill these fuckers,” Bond asked, voice flinty. “However this ends, you let me find them and you let me kill them.”

Q bit the inside of her mouth. “You know you can’t kill all of them; I’ll send you a hit list if you like, but we need the links and we may still need them for years to come.”

Perhaps Q imagined it, but Bond’s voice seemed a little lighter. “That’ll do,” she agreed, conceded. “Thank you for this, Q.”

“My pleasure, Bond,” Q replied, and stayed on the line just talking quietly, talking until Bond took the opportunity to finally, if only briefly, sleep.


	884. Chapter 884

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q are dating but James gets a diagnosis of HIV. – madwriterscorner

They couldn’t quite look at one another.

“Well fuck,” Q managed, eventually.

Bond was staring pointedly at Q’s feet. Q’s eyes were rather unfocused. “… so you’ll have to get tested, but we’ve been safe, it might…”

“We can’t know.”

Q was very, dangerously quiet.

“Are you okay?”

“I think the actual question is whether  _you’re_  okay,” Q corrected, looking very pale. “This… fuck, Bond. I’m assuming this was on your mission?”

A small nod. Bond didn’t really know what to do; Q was never so quiet, he always found  _something_  to say, even in the worst of situations.

The pair stood in awful silence.

“Are you okay?”

Q let out a small snort. “As I said: I’m not the one to be asking,” he replied softly. “But since you insist: no, I’m not okay. I am quite shocked and a fair bit frightened, and it’s kind of playing on my general life insecurities about you and missions so no, no I am not okay.”

“It was an unavoidable one,” Bond told him apologetically. “You know that, I don’t do it any more if I can avoid…”

“I know,” Q interjected, a little sharply.

The silence once again billowed.

Bond reached out to Q’s hand; Q watched its progress, very still, not pushing him away but not really responding.

His hand was so warm, and Q felt so fragile.

Without warning, Bond had him in a tight embrace, and Q held back for dear life. “It’ll be alright,” Q told Bond, with a compelling sense of certainty. “It’ll be fine. What’s being done with you? Treatment?”

“Various drugs, I’ll be having regular blood tests,” Bond murmured, and sounded very much like he was close to some sort of break; his voice wavered very slightly, only a little, but enough that Q knew.

Bond didn’t need to tell Q he was frightened. Q could feel it, in the tremble of his body and the irregularity of breath, the slight fracture of voice. “It’ll be alright,” Q repeated, pressing a kiss to Bond’s throat, tender. “I’m sorry, it was just a shock, and I’m not going to lie, I’m scared.”

“I know,” Bond replied, incredibly quiet. “I’m so sorry, Q.”

Q shook his head, curling his body tighter into Bond’s. “Don’t be. We’ll sort it out. I love you, and we’ll work it out.”

Bond didn’t trust himself to speak, and Q didn’t make him. Instead, they just stood, laced into each other, and let the storm break overhead.


	885. Chapter 885

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I really like your work and was wondering if I could add one? Q wakes up tied to an alter and realizes he’s been chosen as a sacrifice his village’s god and is terrified he’s going to be killed/eaten, but James has other plans. :D – anon

Q opened his eyes, and realised very quickly that things had gone extremely wrong.

To be honest, he wasn’t surprised everything had gone to shit. It was a difficult and annoying mission in the middle of bloody nowhere, Q didn’t even vaguely speak the language, the locals were hostile and fairly lethal – which had been increasingly obvious as the days went by – and Bond was barely around, given that he was dealing with a criminal cartel while Q remained in the primary village doing some fairly complicated computing work that didn’t require the internet.

Having said that, he really  _missed_  having the internet.

In any case, all of that was moot: Q had just woken up in the central square with thick rope around his limbs, attaching him to the altar that formed the centrepiece of said square. God alone knew what they had drugged him with to get him there, but it tasted like something had died in his mouth and his head was throbbing.

More importantly, there was a local with a very sharp knife.

Q figured all of it out very, very slowly. Worryingly slowly, actually.

There was tribal dances occurring around him, singing, shouting, incantations to gods Q had no clue about and then there was him, the centrepiece, while said local – a priest, Q figured – shouted phrases to the crowd that were crowed back, the dancing becoming more frenetic.

Q ran through what MI6 had known about the local culture, and recalled human sacrifice, and promptly panicked.

Oh good god, he was about to die. Die, and – if memory served – be eaten by the entire village. Everybody was granted a piece, to grant them long life and unity as a tribe, all very optimistic things that seemed a  _lot less optimistic_  for Q in that particular moment.

Bond was conspicuously absent.

 _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_.

Thrashing and fighting would probably draw too much attention.  _Not_  thrashing and fighting was definitely going to lead to his imminent demise.

(Q realised belatedly that he was stark naked, and decided it was the least of his worries).

Thus, screaming and thrashing and fighting. Q all but arched off the stone slab, trying to get any of his limbs free, voice muffled by more rope as he shrieked like a banshee and hoped for the best.

It seemed to make the tribe  _more_  excitable. Q went from panicked to hysterical, as the priest approached with knife raised.

Q stared like a rabbit in headlights.

This was it.  _Fuck._

Never in his entire life had Q been more grateful to hear a hail of bullets.  _007, you are very close to be being very fucking late_ , Q thought viciously, almost sobbing with relief as the priest toppled floorwards with a yell of pain, knife clattering out of his grip.

Bond – the fucker – was  _smirking_.

“Only you could get taken as a human sacrifice while  _lying low_  in a village in the middle of nowhere,” he mocked, pulling out Q’s gag. “Excuse me a minute while I sort this out.”

“Yes, look at my multiple options,” Q retorted, and remained tied to the rock, while Bond continued to fire; mostly, the village had and were scattering, running like hell from the madman in strange clothes, causing mass chaos with a device they didn’t recognise.

It briefly occurred to Q that they had probably taken his laptop. If they had done any damage to it, Q was reasonably certain he could get dispensation to  _kill the fucking lot of them_  for losing over a week’s worth of work.

Bond returned to Q, using the priest’s knife to cut through the rope; Q sat up the moment he was able, eyes darting around to see any further assailants. “I’m going home,” he snapped to Bond, who was still fucking smirking. “I fucking hate  _everything_  right now.”

“Your gratitude is astounding.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Q sniped back, and tried to stand, with whatever remained of his dignity.


	886. Chapter 886

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I saw this AU and thought of Q. When Q gets upset he goes to the nearest RSPCA or Battersea to pet kittens. Bond finds out and gives Q a basket of kittens for home and office..or something like that. Thanks! – anon

“… you are, without a doubt, the most moronic human being I have ever come across.”

Bond had very rarely been quite so shocked. Most people, when given a present, would have been a little more grateful. “… what did I do?!”

Q blinked. “What do you  _think_  you did wrong?” he yelped, gesticulating at the basket in front of him, eyes wide and little bit frantic. “Bond, I’m an MI6 agent. Quartermaster. I have absolutely no room nor ability to take care of  _five kittens_ , you blithering idiot, and not to  _mention_  that there should never be cats in Q-branch, it’s a recipe for disaster, and how did you even get past security?!”

Bond considered, for a moment; they had been shocked, but once Bond had explained his intentions, they had let him through without too much argument.

In retrospect, they had probably done so just to humour him, and possibly so they could later film Q’s reaction. Which was suitably histrionic, as it happened. “You like kittens.”

“Yes,” Q agreed, “I do. I love cats, kittens, all variations. Absolutely. But surely  _some_ common sense must have impacted for you? In that I couldn’t possibly deal with a collection of dependent cats? So I repeat: you are,  _without a doubt_ , the most moronic human being I have ever come across.”

Bond couldn’t really do much more than stare stupidly. “I thought it would reduce your stress levels.”

“Consider them tripled, and get the kittens out of my sight and into a new home,” Q ordered him firmly. “Do I make myself clear?”

Bond sighed, with palpable reluctance. “Not even if I get clearance for cat cages in here…”

“ _No_ , the cleaning staff hate me as it is!”

The kittens mewed plaintively, forcing Q to wonder if the damn things could him, and  _oh god they were so cute_.

Reflexively, Q reached out to hush them and comfort them, not doing an overwhelmingly good job but really desperately wanting kittens. He had always wanted kittens. His cats at home were quite enough work, but they were older cats and basically self-sufficient through use of a cat flap and a nice patch of back garden in one of the only places in London lucky to have one.

Kittens require so much more care and attention. Q would never be able to have one.

“Remove them,” he said firmly, a little undermined by how he watched the creatures with palpable longing. “I don’t want to see them in here again, do you understand?”

Bond lifted the basket. The kittens let out tiny, cheeping mews, and Q tried not to let his heart melt into a puddle.

“I’ll take them back,” Bond assured him.

Q looked at them longingly, before letting out a long sigh. “Give me half an hour,  _then_  take them back,” he bartered.

Bond couldn’t help grinning, as he placed the basket of mewling kittens on Q’s desk, and Q began to pet them for all his worth in the limited time he had.


	887. Chapter 887

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt! I’d love to see a proposal 00Q fic where Q catches Bond practicing the proposal in the mirror. The proposals get more ridiculous as Bond starts freaking out. whether Q announces himself with a answer or leaves to wait for the final version is up to you! – anon

“And I know we… fuck.”

Bond straightened himself up, and returned attention to the mirror. “Q, from the moment I first met… no, no, that’s a lie…”

Q was enjoying himself immensely. Bond had been going for the last ten minutes or so.

“… so, I feel we…  _god damn it_ , no, sound like an idiot, fine.”

Another deep breath. “Q, you are my world. You have made me so happy. All the brightness of the stars in the sky… what the  _fuck_  am I saying…”

Q remained just in the doorway, out of sight. It was a testimony to Bond’s concentration that he hadn’t noticed Q there; he could usually sense somebody in the same building a mile off.

“Marry me.”

Bond just said it outright and looked rather pleased with himself. Simple, clean, effective. Q rather liked it; it was very  _Bond_  to be so clinical about it all.

Abruptly, Bond keeled forward with an elaborate groan. “I’m doomed,” he muttered, and straightened up again, clearly trying to keep himself from committing ritual seppuku over the entire affair. “Alright. Q. I love you. You are everything to me. I want to be with you forever. The MI6 paperwork is building by the second, and if I’m injured you’ll be next of kin, so it would be very convenient for all concerned, and that’s  _obviously_  not why I’m proposing,” Bond continued, picking up speed as he panicked, “I just wanted to say that getting married has a lot of benefits and it would be best for both of us and also as I said I love you and I want to spend my life with you and fucking  _hell_  why I can’t I get this to sound halfway normal?”

By now, Bond was all but shrieking at the mirror.

Q decided to take pity.

“Ahem?”

Bond nearly toppled over from sheer shock.

The pair stared at one another. Bond had turned a truly ungodly colour.

“How much did you hear?” Bond asked, his voice rasping slightly.

Q smiled apologetically. “A decent amount. You’re not as bad as you think, you know.”

Bond seemed to have completely frozen into position. “So… alright,” he managed, and twisted himself the right way round, remaining on one knee. “I was going to cook you a meal and ply you with alcohol, for the record, but since we’re here…”

“Yes, James, of course I’ll marry you,” Q cut in, before Bond could revert (again) to his uncharacteristic ineptitude with words.

Never had Q seen Bond quite so relieved.

Q took a couple of steps to Bond. James Bond, down on one knee, proffering a small box. A box that contained an absolutely lovely ring; Bond slid said ring onto Q’s finger, and let out a slow breath. “I love you, Q.”

“I love you too,” Q grinned, and drew Bond into a searing kiss.


	888. Chapter 888

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt submission! All of MI6 participates in a betting pool of which person will finally capture the Quatermaster’s attention. When the victor is revealed (James Bond) only one person actually bet on 007 and is going home with a fortune. That one lucky individual is up to you! – anon

Moneypenny had upped the stakes to £20 a head after Q had a long discussion with one of the medical staff; they had seemed easy and intimate with one another, laughed a lot, and Eve had discovered that the staff member in question did actually have a bit of a crush on Q.

Everybody pitched in. The whole of Q-branch were in – half of them betting on one of their co-workers being the one Q fell for – and in any case, the most likely candidates were Q-branch minions that Q knew best.

Tanner had placed his money on double-oh two, M on double-oh six. Double-oh six – Alec, one of Bond’s closest friends – bet on Bond.

It took a few weeks, obviously. As time ticked on, the rumours flew more dramatically, and everybody kept pushing the amounts up. If it had gone on much longer they’d end up with truly ridiculous quantities of money.

As it was, it was still a disgustingly large amount.

“And that,” Alec grinned, “is that.”

Q-branch had all clubbed around one of the minions’ screens, looking at the cameras tracking Q’s central workshop. Some Q-branch minions were dotted around doing experiments on things like exploding pens and phones and razor wire yoyos – the old things were still sometimes the best, or at least the most fun – and the rest were in the computer centre, along with most of the senior management staff, the few double-oh agents on domestic assignments, a host of other random agents, catering, and a few medical staff.

After all, this was the moment. One of the minions had been flagging how much time Bond spent with Q, and realised it was a surprisingly large amount of time. When Bond reached the workshop for the fourth time that week, one of the minions alerted the others, and thus everybody had congregated to see whether it was  _the moment_.

Alec was grinning. Bond had forewarned him.

The pair were speaking happily to each other, Q evidently threatening Bond with a small screwdriver, Bond laughing and ducking out of the way, saying something that inspired a notable grin from Q, easy and companionable.

“Oh  _fuck_.”

Everybody watched as Bond leaned in to kiss him.

Q’s body melted as they watched, pulling Bond in closer, the pair all but making out on Q’s desk within a matter of moments.

As they watched, Q lifted his hand, middle finger pointed skywards and gesture directed – quite firmly – at the camera.

“Cheeky fuck,” M muttered, and sighed. “Alright then, ladies and gentlemen. I think we have our winner.”

“That’s twenty quid a head to me,” Alec crowed, all but cackling. “Thank you very much. Told you all so.”

“How did you…”

“It’s  _Bond_ ,” Alec reminded. “He has a type.”

“He’s straight.”

Alec looked pointedly to the screen, and back again. “It’s Bond. He’ll go for anything if it’s pretty enough. I win.”

Eve looked like she was being forced to chew wasps. “Fuck you, Trevelyan.”

“Don’t sulk,” he chided back, and winked at her in a way that could only be construed as flirtatious.

On screen, Bond and Q had disappeared, hand in hand and both giggling like teenagers.

Nobody was keen on finding out where to.


	889. Chapter 889

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a angsty prompt.. James and Q are in a secret relationship and are happy till MI6 finds out.. M makes him choose. Queen and Country or Q. If he chooses Q, he is no longer an agent. If he chooses Queen and Country no more Q or he loses his job. They are in love but I will make you choose the ending but I do prefer angst. xoox. – anon

Bond was never usually too concerned about being called into M’s office. Generally, it was a short meeting where Bond could be sarcastic (and verging on insubordinate) without too many repercussions other than weary sighs and general annoyance.

From the moment he walked into the room, however, he knew there was something very wrong.

“Take a seat.”

Bond did as directed, eyebrow raised. “It’s serious, then?”

“It has come to my attention that you are in a relationship with the Quartermaster.”

Instantly, Bond’s heart sank horribly. “… and?” he asked, with more confidence than he felt.

M didn’t quite look apologetic, but it was the closest approximation Bond had ever seen from him. “This is not a tenable situation. The role of active double-oh agents precludes the possibility of relationships. Your contract says as much. Relationships create weak points and a lot of emotional strain on individuals in MI6 who are already under extreme pressure. It is non-negotiable.”

“Your predecessor was married.”

M looked at him steadily. “M was a fairly unique case, as she joined MI6 when already married. Her husband and son were shot dead, through direct consequence of her role in MI6. We take agents who have no family, no background, and nobody to miss them. It is Queen and Country, and that is how we have to operate. We cannot risk either of you pulling a stunt like you did with Vesper Lynd.”

Bond felt his hackles raised, and suppressed a genuine growl. “There are many agents who…”

“Bond. This is non-negotiable,” M repeated. “If you are insistent, you will be stripped of your position as an active agent. Q is too valuable to lose. The choice is whether or not you remain in MI6, and this conversation is entirely off the record. You have twenty-four hours to make your decision.”

M watched him without mercy. Bond stared straight back, mouth in a tight line. “Understood,” he said quietly, and stood to go. “Good afternoon, M.”

“I’m sorry,” M replied quietly, and watched him go.

-

Q was very, very still.

“I’m sorry, Q,” Bond continued; Q just held up a hand, silencing him quite effectively.

They stood for a moment, Bond’s heart breaking as he watched somebody he loved try very hard to conceal how much they hurt.

It had been scarcely a few days since Bond had quietly admitted that he hoped to spend the rest of his life with Q. Q had agreed, and gently kissed him, as though Bond was something immensely fragile. Weirdly, it had felt right. Bond was unaccustomed to being treated like glass, but didn’t especially mind it.

Q had loved him so much.

There was little more to say, and so neither of them said anything.

“Please shut the door when you leave,” Q asked, effectively dismissing him, no hint of a break in his voice.

Bond did as bidden, barely breathing, and pretended not to hear the very small sob that escaped before the door closed.


	890. Chapter 890

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I request an AU in which Q knows how dangerous keeping secrets on the internet is, and instead uses pieces of paper to hold most of his secrets. So the first time James comes over, he sees papers hung up haphazardly on the walls and doesn’t really know what to think. Thank you! – anon

Q glanced around the frame of the door, establishing it was Bond; he nodded, muttered “just a second”, and closed the door again.

Bond waited.

There was an ungodly noise from Q’s side of the door. Bond waited patiently. Another series of clunks, screeches, a sound like metal being put through a blender, and the door swung wide to allow Bond entry.

“Wait.”

Bond waited.

Q smiled, and disabled a second interior trap. “Well done, you survived,” he said happily. “Good. Welcome. Tea?”

“Coffee, if you have it.”

Q shot him a look of vague resentment. “I hate the smell of coffee,” he muttered, but headed into the kitchen regardless, while Bond took a look around and felt tingles run down his spine.

It looked like Q had lost his mind, somewhere along the line. Papers were  _everywhere_ , including dangling from strings criss-crossing the ceiling, photographs, scrawled notes that apparently interconnected.

“Erm, Q?”

Q popped his head around. “… yes?”

Bond just waved at the paper carnage with vague disbelief. “This is…?”

“My notes,” Q shrugged. “Computers are very fallible. Information online is always a risk. So, all extremely important notes, I keep on paper. And yes, strung up to the ceiling. Eve had a similar reaction to yours, actually.”

Bond nodded slowly. “I’m not surprised.”

Q grinned in a way that was probably designed to be friendly, but just succeeded in looking rather manic. “It does the job. Hang on, kettle.”

He disappeared again. Bond gingerly stepped through the flat, vigilantly guarding against any further projectile attacks the flat may throw at him.

Bond did  _not_  expect the cat.

“Fucking  _hell_ ,” he yelled, as a furry thing appeared out of nowhere to attack him. “Q?!”

Q’s head appeared again. “What?!”

“ _Cat_.”

A sharp eye roll. “What did you do to her?”

“ _ME?!_ ”

Cat was still resolutely refusing to move.

And then,  _of course_ , there was another.

“How many cats do you have?!”

“Two,” Q replied calmly. “And you’ve annoyed them. Enjoy. They have very good instincts, so I’d imagine they’ve sensed you’re a threat. Do try to behave, I think you should probably look after that suit. It’s a nice suit.”

By the time Q appeared with coffee, the trousers were more or less shredded, and Bond had become inextricably knotted in the ungodly and unfair strings and  _strings_  of paperwork that latticed the ceiling, Bond feeling rather broken as he saw a picture of himself on a pinboard with a sticky note smiley face on it.


	891. Chapter 891

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick prompt! The long nights at MI6 means Q gets little sleep when there is an important mission. I would love to see a very sleepy Q giving Bond his equipment and forgetting for a moment where he is Q gives Bond a kiss goodbye like he does every morning. Basically outing their relationship to the entire Q branch. – anon

Q suppressed a yawn with difficulty, aware that Bond was less than impressed with his state - Bond always got cross when Q had stopped sleeping – and equally, was finding it very funny. The mix of amusement, exasperation and worry was very familiar.

“… so this is your gun, coded as normal, tickets and alternative passport, currency, and some special feature on the briefcase… this bit fires a tranquiliser dart, if you remove this bit you can store papers et cetera, I’ve already packed it, and I left the Le Carre in there for the train, fuck, sorry, plane. Happy?”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m happy. Thank you, Quartermaster.”

Q smiled at him. “Double-oh seven. Yes. Bring the equipment back in one piece, if you would?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’re a nightmare,” Q replied, mumbling slightly. “Off you go. There will be forfeits for missing equipment.”

Bond grinned widely and slightly scarily, and picked up the briefcase.

“ _Fuck_ , I forgot to tell you about the buzz saw.”

Never, in all of Bond’s life, had he put down a briefcase so fast.

Q lifted it with worrying confidence, pressing it open and ducking to one side on instinct as the dart fired; it sank into R’s shoulder, and she managed a series of very imaginative curses before collapsing.

“… bugger,” Q muttered. “Heloise, can we get a clean up down here, R’s out. Just a tranq, but that’s the third time this week…”

Occasionally, the casualty level in Q-branch was truly extraordinary. They had attempted a proud “No Accidents In __ Days!”, and given that up fairly quickly after failing to get through two hours, let alone days.

“Max, could you take over on her prototype, I want it done for this evening.”

“It  _is_  evening,” Bond reminded Q, who looked rather surprised for a moment. “Q, you need to go get some sleep.”

Q nodded tiredly. “I’m aware. Buzz saw first.”

“Should you be handling a buzz saw when you’re this tired?”

Q shot him a look of unbridled vitriol. Bond shut up.

Buzz saw explained – and really, Bond wished it wasn’t there, given that he was reasonably fond of his fingers – and Q seemed to visibly calm, actually feeling the exhaustion that was visible in his entire being.

Another yawn. “Be safe, James,” he murmured, and pulled Bond towards him, kissing him gently and sighing contentedly as Bond’s arms slid around him.

Bond’s breath was hot in his ear: “I think that’s the cat officially out of the bag,” he told Q.

Q straightened, abruptly very aware that the entirety of his branch were watching. “… all of you, back to work,” he told them coldly, face an extraordinary colour of pink. “ _Now_.”

They all busied themselves, but Q could hear the underrunning giggling, just audible – not to mention that Bond was shaking with suppressed laughter. “I hate you,” Q muttered at him, but smiled in spite of himself. “Well. There’s that.”

Bond leaned in, and kissed him. “There’s that, indeed.”


	892. Chapter 892

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt- Every year the 00s have a Christmas party. It’s a massive honour for a non 00 to be invited. Bombs had been trying to get Q to go out with him but his reputation is getting in the way so to prove he’s serious he invites Q to the party :) – anon

Bond was plotting something.

More or less everybody in the building knew. Bond was not the most subtle of creatures at the best of times; while trying something incognito within the MI6 building itself, it was painfully obvious that he was up to something.

However, nobody had worked out  _what_  yet.

“Q.”

Q glanced up. Something in Bond’s expression made him rather concerned; perhaps the mystery of his weird behaviour was about to come to something.

Thus, Q ventured, with no small measure of trepidation: “… yes?”

“It’s December.”

“I noticed.”

“It is approaching Christmas.”

“Again, I noticed.”

“Christmas is quite an important time of year.”

“Matter of perspective, but I appreciate the point.”

“Christmas is important to me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I don’t often get Christmas at home.”

“That’s the downside of being an international agent.”

“I have Christmas in the UK this year.”

“I know, I’m the one who organises your schedule, if you recall?”

“I do. I am also in the UK for the double-oh Christmas party.”

“I’m sure you’ll have an excellent evening. Is that all?”

“Not quite. Would you accompany me?”

“To what?”

“The party.”

“The… the double-oh…?”

“Yes.”

Q blinked.

The double-oh Christmas party was for double-ohs and their immediate partners. The only non-double-oh Q knew who was going was Eve, who was in a longterm relationship with Alec Trevelyan. Being invited was a little like a marriage proposal.

Bond had no discernible expression, and Q had forgotten how to think.

They stayed in silence for a long while. Q gaped, and closed his mouth again after a moment.

“Are you sure?” he asked Bond, who raised an amused eyebrow. “I mean… yes, obviously, that would be lovely, but are you  _sure?!_ ”

Bond smirked. “Yes. I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for  _weeks_ , I thought this might finally illustrate that my intentions are entirely good.”

“… okay,” Q managed, stuttering to a finish. “Well. Yes. Lovely. Erm. Do I need to be in formal wear?”

Bond’s grin turned leonine. “Nope. You can wear whatever you like. I’ll take you to dinner beforehand. Thank you, Q.”

With that, he ambled away, leaving Q to quietly hyperventilate.


	893. Chapter 893

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, would you please write a 00Q flicker based on the song Nobody Does It Better from The Spy Who Loved Me? Much love xxxx – anon

Q knew, quite entirely, that every secret he ever had would live in Bond’s mind and would never overspill.

It made all the difference.

Q lived a life of secrets. His name was the most obvious one; there were so very few who would remember the name he’d grown up with, the person he’d been once upon a time before MI6 became his home and his life.

It was quite nice, in the soft blackness of a night with Bond’s body hot against his skin, to murmur an echo of who he had once been and know it would never leave that room, that night, that moment.

“Bond?”

“Call me James.”

Q smiled invisibly. He only called Bond by his first name when they were together; the rest was work, the rest was everything. “Careful, double-oh seven, or I’ll get very annoyed with you.”

“I’ve been demoted,” Bond grinned, all teeth and laughter. “Why?”

“We’re working,” Q reminded him. “And professionalism is important. You’d never call me anything other than Q.”

“True,” Bond agreed, and it made something in Q relax instantly.

Bond kept every secret, and Bond loved him.

They both broke more secrecy laws than could be adequately counted, while talking to one another. The nights were their spaces, and their words sank into the blackness where they would never be rehashed. Bond listened to Q break apart with tears at the stories of an agent they lost, and Q’s hands laced around Bond’s body to tales of collateral damage that only Bond’s eyes had seen.

“… and if you could head left, that would be lovely,” Q told him; Bond dipped right, and Q let out a sigh of exasperation. “Bond?”

Several gunshots. “Mark eliminated, along with hostiles,” Bond told him calmly; and my  _god_ , Q forgot sometimes just how good he was at his job. “Extraction?”

“Ready and waiting,” Q replied calmly, and could sense Bond’s satisfaction; he was just as good at his job, too. “Just attempt to be there on time? I don’t want to hold them in place for too long.”

Bond didn’t reply, but the pound of his footsteps grew more rapid.

Q hummed under his breath. Bond would come home and pin him to the bed, fuck him into oblivion with laughter trickling off his lips, and Q would pretend they weren’t in love because it just made things harder.

But good  _god_ , there was nobody in the world quite like Bond.

“In place, extraction team here. See you at home, Q.”

“Be safe,” he smiled back, and let out a breath, sitting back in his chair to await his return.


End file.
